He Means Business
by ShiningMoon
Summary: Bored to no end with Capsule Corporation's utter lack of competition of late, Bulma uses the dragon balls to wish for the perfect businessperson to rise up and take her on. But what happens when this person turns out to be...Raditsu?
1. 01

NOTE: If this sounds familiar to you, it's probably because I actually started a fanfic with this premise years ago, but after about five chapters I forgot about it (or something). I'm gonna finish it this time, promise. I do hope you enjoy it. Pure silliness. I hope.  
Oh, and sorry for making Shenlong a bit out of character. It's just, I feel for the guy...er...dragon. By the way, the characters/personalities of Raditsu, Bardock, and Nappa are hopefully gonna be about the same as they were in Icebox, if you happen to have read that one. I got so attached to 'em.

...

"Hey. Woman."

Nothing.

"Bulma."

Nothing.

"..._Bulma._"

Still nothing.

"_BULMA!_" the force of Vegeta's voice nearly pushed her from her chair on its own, but he helped it along by tilting the chair. She tumbled to the ground, stack of papers following and scattering around her as large, rectangular snowflakes.

"Dammit, Vegeta, what do you _want_?" she stood, rubbing her rear where she'd struck the ground. "I was working, you know!"

"Were not," the prince spat. "You were sleeping."

"No, I...well...I was just tired," she shrugged, gathering up the papers and halfheartedly straightening them; her fingers grasped them delicately as if they might melt in her hands.

Vegeta snatched one of the papers. "What is this?" he raised an eyebrow, waving it in front of her face. "It's blank." He gathered up a few more, with much less finesse but much more interest than Bulma. "They're _all_ blank."

"Not this one!" she huffed, waving a solitary sheet. Vegeta snorted, noting the few lines of scrawling text on the top and a half-hearted diagram in one margin. Upon closer inspection, he found that the diagram was actually a sketch of the dragon balls. "Anyway, why do you care?"

"Don't think your recent lack of," he paused, flashing a toothy grin, "_aggression_," and flinched away as Bulma crossed her arms and huffed, "has gone without my noticing." He grabbed the one used paper from Bulma and glanced over the text at the top. It was a random grouping of words, some sort of brainstorming exercise, but each one seemed to have been crossed out, scribbled through, or otherwise marked off. "I get the feeling it's related to your lethargic approach to your work of late," Vegeta leaned in close, "and I have a particular interest in this." He stood again, crossing his arms and waiting.

"All right," she sighed, "you got me." Bulma took one of the blank sheets and applied systematic folds to it, until it was a flawlessly designed paper plane. It soared across the room for a few moments, looping and dipping as it banked just before it hit one wall, sweeping just along another, seemingly anticipating Vegeta's ducking motion and teasing him, twitching closer toward him before Bulma snatched it back. "I'm bored."

"How's that?" Vegeta took the plane from her, appreciating its form for half a second before crumpling it and tossing it into the trash can across the room. "You run an entire company."

"The largest corporation on the planet, more like," she huffed, plopping back into her chair and resting her cheek against her hand.

Vegeta's eyebrows lifted. "Yes. It must keep you busy. Or do you want me to go back to breaking the gravity room every other day?"

Bulma shrugged. "It's the biggest corporation on the planet. The _whole _planet, Vegeta! You know, it wasn't always like this."

"I like it this way," Vegeta took a seat beside her, flinging his feet up onto the table and crossing his legs at the ankles. "I don't have to do anything but train, eat, and sleep. Perfect for a Saiyajin prince. Would you rather have been pushed aside by a different company?"

"I'd rather compete," she blurted.

Vegeta smirked. "Ah. So that's it." He seemed to consider the ceiling for a minute. "Well, why don't you just give some other company some money to expand? I don't know how such things work, but that seems like it would be effective enough."

"That's _cheating_," Bulma blew him a raspberry. "No way."

"I don't know what to tell you," Vegeta shrugged. "I could teach you some martial arts and you could go beat someone up."

"I just wish someone could be as amazing as me," Bulma sighed, and Vegeta rolled his eyes, "at running a business, I mean. To compete with me."

"Well, given your brilliance," Vegeta grinned in only half condescension, "you may wish for too much." He glanced down at the single marked page that he still held. "...Bulma. _Wish._" The prince slid the paper across the table to Bulma. "The dragon balls."

...

"Well, damn. You got me," Bardock slapped his cards down onto the table.

"Yeah, how're those psychic powers working out for you now?" Raditsu grinned, gathering up his winnings. "That's three times in a row you lost to me!"

"Raditsu," Bardock hunched over the table, preparing to explain, "I arready told you, my visions _don't_—" his head smacked against the surface below him as he seemed to fall asleep immediately, twitching slightly.

"Aw, dammit," Raditsu leaned over his father, quickly reshuffling the cards and glancing over them. "You'd better not be looking at my hand, in there!" he knocked on Bardock's head. The man merely twitched again, his mouth moving wordlessly, eyes half-open.

A moment later he sat up, just as abruptly as he'd collapsed. "Pork bun!" he blurted, apparently in alarm.

But he found no response, for in his sudden sitting up he had slammed his head against Raditsu's—his son lay unconscious on the ground. Bardock shrugged, reshuffling the deck as he waited for Raditsu to come to. "Well ain't that just the way it goes."

...

"Thanks, Vegeta," Bulma smiled, taking the last dragon ball from him.

"I'm a much better swimmer than you, of course," he smirked, and grabbed his shirt from the ground to dry his hair. "So, are you taking them back home, or making your wish right here?"

"Oh, I don't think I can wait!" Bulma laid the orbs out carefully. "You know what I first wanted when I found out about these?" she held the last one up for a moment.

"The exact same thing?" Vegeta guessed, snorting.

"No way," she laughed, "Dad still ran Capsule Corporation then. I wanted a boyfriend," she chuckled, and Vegeta's mouth curled into a disgusted frown. "What? I was young."

"Fool. Just make your wish."

"Man, I wonder how long it'll take?" Bulma stepped away from the glowing spheres. "I hope not too long."

"Ridiculous," was all Vegeta had to say, but at Bulma's fierce glare he added, "but so long as it makes you happy."

"Damn straight," Bulma grinned, and raised her hands above her head. "Come forth, Shenlong!"

The dragon burst from the ground, unwinding until it curled gracefully through the sky. "What is your first wish?" he asked promptly, even hurriedly.

"I want to wish for...a person who can run a business that can compete with Capsule Corp.!"

Vegeta swore he heard Shenlong mutter something about 'amateurs' beneath his fearsome dragon breath. "That's your wish?" he boomed. "I can't make sense of it. Please clarify."

"Er...well...like...the most capable person...to be put in the position where they can successfully start a business?" she started. "I don't even care what kind of person."

"Eight-year-old?" Shenlong questioned, and Vegeta got the distinct impression that they were being played for fools. "Dead man?" he added when Bulma was speechless for a time. "Fluf—"

"Yes, yes, dammit, I don't _care_ what kind of person it is!" Bulma finally cried. "All right? Just make it happen!"

The dragon sighed, to the extent that his exhalation could be considered sighing, as his eyes glowed. "It is done. And I am _not _going to allow _you_ to make the second wish," Shenlong rumbled. "Have that guy make one."

"Me?" Vegeta balked. "I..."

"No!" the dragon roared. "Behind you!"

The Saiyajin whipped around. "Kakarotto."

"What's up, guys? I noticed the sky got dark," the man strode out into the clearing, grinning. "What's the occasion?"

"I'll explain later," Vegeta huffed. "But this dragon is just about on my last nerve."

"Yo, Shenlong, I don't think these guys want the other wish!" Goku called up. "Can we save it for later?"

The dragon nodded, and Vegeta again heard muttering, this time that sounded very much like the words 'thank god'—but he seemed to be the only one to notice. The dragon disappeared and the balls soared to all the corners of the world at a notably speedier pace than he'd remembered them moving before.

"So," Goku stuffed his hands in his pockets. "What was your wish?"

...

"Wow," Nappa leaned over Raditsu's unconscious body. "You are _out_, buddy." He slapped the man's face one more time, to no avail, before glancing up to Bardock. "You're his father, right? You were here when this happened?"

"Well, 's not really...'s _way_ too complicated to explain," he shrugged.

"Gotta say, and I'm sorry to say it," Nappa started, glancing down at Raditsu. "I think that your son is—" he gasped, waving his hand over the suddenly empty space above Raditsu's head, "—_alive_?"


	2. 02

The disgustingly sweet air was familiar, and he was most definitely not in Hell anymore. He'd been here before, but he couldn't quite place this place. Perhaps he'd only been here briefly. A small sliver of a creature fluttered by, flamboyant in its coloration, and landed upon an equally ostentatious plant. His ears picked up a faint hum, and he turned to face its source; soft and aimless singing permeated the air from some entity just over the gentle slope of the nauseatingly lush hillside.

Maybe he had no other choice—he made his way toward the sound, stepping boldly to the top of the hill and planting his hands against his waist. The singing stopped almost as abruptly as the memory of this place smacked Raditsu over the head. The Saiyajin grinned downward to the source of the noise. "Ah, Farmer. We meet again."

...

Bardock frowned, throwing his feet onto the card table. He'd played a few games with some of his old buddies—even that Nappa guy—but it just wasn't the same as with Raditsu. There was no one to mindlessly and persistently accuse him of cheating each time his ever-persistent premonitions about his other son dragged him out of consciousness. There was no one to scream about the real rules of the game, no one to swear at him for being "as stupid as that traitor sonnuvabitch, my brother."

No, Hell just wasn't the same since his son had disappeared. He wondered if he should broaden his circle to find someone more entertaining to play cards with, if maybe—

_Wham_,he fell backwards off his chair as he fell unconscious. There was Kakarrot, rapping on a door, rolling from his toes to his heels, and then back to his toes. A woman with blue hair opened the door, and in walked Kakarrot to find—was that Prince Vegeta?—and—was _that_...Raditsu?

Bardock blinked rapidly as he awoke. "Just when you think you ain't gettin' any crazier..."

...

Yes, he was on Earth, all right, but hell if he knew why. His father had knocked him out, yes—and he'd woken up—without a halo—here. Well, not _here_. He'd woken up in a pasture cluttered with anything and everything that could possibly make him retch, short of his very own brother. _Here_, where he was now, was a different matter.

"So? Cough it up. Come on."

"B-but Mister, how am I gonna buy my lunch?"

He shrugged, snorting, "Steal it. Now give me your currency or I will have to beat it out of you!"

"Y-y-you wouldn't r-_really_ beat up a-a-a-a _kid_, would you?" he stuttered, finding his back pinned to the wall behind him.

Raditsu cracked his knuckles. "Oh, I could do more than that."

Small change rattled out of the child's pockets and he was gone. Raditsu scooped it up. "So that's what the coinage of these people is like," he scrutinized it for a moment before tossing some of it over his shoulder, suddenly disinterested. "Hey! Woman!" he stepped in front of an older figure. "Direct me to the nearest establishment of edibles!" For good measure, Raditsu slapped the remaining coins against her hand.

"There's a grocery store around the corner," she blinked at the change before pointing down the street, "if that's what you mean."

"It will do," he sniffed, turning his nose up, and strutted away.

...

"Goddammit, Vegeta, just _go_!" Bulma hissed. "I feel awful. I think you can handle _that _short of a list just fine."

Vegeta glanced it over. "This is not befitting of a prince," he grumbled.

She snatched a tissue from the box, followed rapidly by another, and then another. "Well, you'll just have to suck it up. By the way," she raised her eyebrows to denote that what she was about to say was of utmost significance, "don't expect the lobsters to respond."

"Lobsters?" Vegeta growled, quickly losing what patience he had left.

"You know," Bulma crooned, and raised two fingers to her head to emulate antennae. "With the claws. Reddish-brown. In the back, by the seafood section."

"Th-those aren't descendents of the Robustans?"

Bulma snorted, trying to suppress a giggle. "Probably not. And I don't think they understood a single one of your insults," she grinned.

"Why didn't you tell me last time?" he nearly roared, his ears and cheeks tinged with red. "I knew I never should have gone to that accursed food store with you."

She simply snickered again. "Get going, Vegeta." As he made his way for the door, she reclined, reaching for another tissue. "I wonder how long it'll take this business to crop up..." Bulma sighed, rapping her fingers against the table. "It's been a week...isn't that long enough?" She coughed and drew up a stack of paper. "Guess there's nothing wrong with a little preemptive brainstorming..."

...

"All right," Raditsu leaned down. "And here I was thinking this place just sold canned goods. Who knew I'd find the likes of _you_ here?" he bared his teeth. "I finally find something that crawls, but it's just you scum of the universe..."

Glancing around him, the Saiyajin noticed that the others in the store wheeled around wire frames to hold their goods. He grabbed a mostly empty one from nearby and lifted the tank; its sloshing was negligible as he lowered it into the basket. "I have some questions for you," he wagged his finger at it, "and I hope by the time I leave this place you'll be willing to talk." Giving the wheeled apparatus a shove, Raditsu continued through the grocery store, piling slabs of meat into the area of the cart that wasn't filled by the aquarium. He heard a quick _tip-tap-tip-tap_ coming from behind him and turned to find a young man preparing to tap him on the shoulder. 

"S-sir, you can't just take the lob...sters..." he started, glancing around Raditsu to look at the cart. "Say, how'd you get that in there, anyway?"

"Same way as you got it on that stand, I imagine," he started, but then narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Oh yeah, that's right, you humans are total weaklings. Well, never mind, then," he turned around and continued on his way. The young man's lips moved, but no air came through his mouth. After Raditsu turned the corner, the youth heaved a sigh and returned to his station.

Raditsu noted with mild irritation the numerous raised stands that stood between himself and the doorway. At each stood a person of the same approximate age as the other boy, gawking at him. Finally, he decided to wheel his cart between the space that separated two of these counters, and met hesitant babbling about "checking out" and "paying" and "you can't do that." An irritating buzz emanated from the surrounding area, and Raditsu growled.

"You have to pay for that, sir!"

"Like hell I do," he rumbled. "I'll kill you if you try to make me."

"Th-that's...er...I...I..."

"Raditsu?" came a voice he knew. The Saiyajin swiveled his head to the left, facing the entrance to the store.

"V-Vegeta?" His brows furrowed; he'd forgotten that the man had taken up residence on this pathetic planet. But then, perhaps he hadn't actually forgotten; after all, why had he been biding his time for the past days, rather than having a little more fun blowing things up? He must have remembered at some level that this was Vegeta's home, enough to decide that destroying it wouldn't be worth experiencing his rage.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the prince demanded, and from the tone of his voice Raditsu wasn't sure if Vegeta was happy to see him, or might just kill him on the spot. After a moment's pause and further observation of the other Saiyajin, Vegeta added, "You don't have a halo—you're alive!" and he struggled not to stare with the same half-open mouth as all the other occupants of the store.

"No shit," Raditsu waved his hand over his head. "What I don't get, is _how_."

Vegeta's eyes widened as one potential cause struck him. "When...did this happen?"

Raditsu seemed to count back days on his fingers. "Maybe six or seven evenings ago."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Could've been five...or eight..." he amended in response." First few days kinda blurred together." Raditsu frowned and pondered his situation for a moment. "I was thinking maybe you had finally decided to wish me back, after all those years. You know. With those, hm, whatsit balls..." His eyes narrowed. "Which begs the question..."

"Raditsu!" Vegeta shouted before the man's thoughts could follow that path any farther. "You're...you're..."

"What? Forgotten? Needlessly tossed aside? Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things? I don't think so! I think—"

"Raditsu..._you_...are the perfect businessman."


	3. 03

"Well, I think your magical dragon is just fucking with you," Raditsu shrugged, lugging a few bags of the goods that Bulma had requested—which Vegeta, of all people, had _paid for_—out to the vehicle the prince seemed to have brought for the purpose of transporting these items. "I mean, to start with, I don't know a damn thing about this mudball. How does he get off thinking I could do something like that? He's gotta be pulling your tail."

Vegeta shook his head. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"I'm not complaining, of course," Raditsu added, still a little concerned that Vegeta might do off with him for fun. He'd heard about what had happened to Nappa. "But even if that is why I'm alive again, what am I supposed to do, exactly?"

Climbing into the car, Vegeta raised one shoulder nonchalantly and smirked a bit. "I think that's up to you to figure out."

"Hey, wanna be my right-hand man?" Raditsu suggested, and grinned, liking the sound of it. Vegeta—_Vegeta_—working under _him_.

Vegeta snorted. "Tch. No thanks. I've no interest in such things. Besides, Bulma will finally be in a good mood again..." his eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth raised at the thought. "To betray her by siding with you would be...counterproductive."

"'Bulma,' eh?" Raditsu elbowed him, and Vegeta pulled away, frowning, "You talk like you found something good in this scummy place."

"You'll see," he maneuvered out of the parking lot, and Raditsu watched carefully as he operated the machine. "Gods, why was it _you_?" he mused.

"Could've been worse," Raditsu fiddled with one of the knobs, and noise blared out of some holes on the sides of the vehicle. He quickly turned it the other way until the vicinity was in relative silence, "Could've been Nappa."

Vegeta sighed. "At least he knew when to shut up."

"Did not." 

"Shut up."

...

"Hey. Buddy. You look pretty bummed."

"Don't call me buddy."

"All right. Bardock, right? What's up? You miss Raditsu?"

"Shut up."

"I mean, you two did always play cards. Y'know, I could play cards with you, if you want."

"Shut up." 

"I play fair and all. Hell, you already know! We played a few games the other day; you can trust me. Whaddaya say?"

"Shut up." 

"This isn't healthy, you know. I'm sure you can find some other buddies around. I thought you were doing okay. Say! Why do you keep falling unconscious all the time, anyway? I—"

"Shut up."

"I just, well I guess what I've heard is that you see your son's future. Well, not Raditsu. You know. Kakarrot. I met him once. Man, he beat me to a pulp. He didn't kill me though; that was Vegeta, of course."

"Shut up."

"You know who I hear likes playing cards? You're not gonna believe this, buddy."

"Don't call me buddy."

"You know who it is? King Vegeta. Yeah. That's what I hear. I didn't believe it either. Say, I could go talk to him, if you want, and see if he'd play cards with you. I think he's pretty bored lately too. I mean, everybody is. It's Hell."

"Shut up."

"Hey! You could even both talk about not having your sons around and all."

"Shut up."

"You're kind of a crabby guy, you know that?"

"Shut—" and he buckled and fell to the ground.

Raditsu was tapping his foot impatiently, but where was Ka—ah, there, right beside him with berries of all shapes and sizes piled in his hand. He pointed to one and grinned at Raditsu, who shrugged and nodded, taking that one himself and looking it over carefully, and Kakarrot gobbled up everything else. Raditsu seemed to mutter as he stalked off, but Goku burst into a grin, hopping after the man. "—Groceries!" Bardock blurted, eyes popping open.

"You know what?" came Nappa's voice, and a wave of nausea washed over Bardock that made him wish the vision might have lasted a little longer. "I like you."

"Shut. Up."

...

"Thanks, Vegeta," Bulma called as the door opened, flipping to the next page in a magazine and rapping her pencil against it. She made as if to turn around and address him. "Say, what if we—" she stopped as another figure stepped into the room. "V-Vegeta? Um..."

"Hm," Raditsu smirked. "Say, I remember you. You were on that island when I took Kakarrot's son." He looked her over. "Not bad, considering how long it's been. Are you Bulma?"

"_Vegeta_!" the woman called. "Where the hell are you?"

"Finding a suitable area for the lobsters," he called from a location that sounded suspiciously close to the gravity room. He followed up with, "What are you whining about? I even put the groceries in the kitchen."

"This is _not funny_, Vegeta!" she shrunk back behind the couch, just to be safe, as Raditsu crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "Tell me who this guy is and why he looks just like Goku's brother! And how he knows what Goku's brother did!"

"Because he _is_ Kakarrot's brother," Vegeta responded, and exited the hallway, shaking some water from his hands.

"Don't even put me in the same _sentence _as that traitor sonnuvabitch!" he growled.

Vegeta chuckled. "Bulma, Raditsu here was brought back to life about a week ago."

"Why on Earth would—" she froze. "No way. No_ way_. Stop pulling my chain."

"_Tail_," Raditsu corrected, and she shot him a glare momentarily. "What's this bullshit about chains?"

"Well, I don't see any other reason he'd be back," Vegeta continued. "The current theory is that the dragon is just playing a joke on us."

"Maybe..." Bulma bit her lip. "I hope not." She sat up straight as an idea struck her. "Or maybe he's even more a cutthroat, stop-at-nothing jerk than _you_," she blew him a raspberry, "and he's had just enough contact with Earth that it works out the best."

"Maybe," the prince shrugged.

Bulma raised herself from the couch, slapping the magazine against the table resolutely and strode over to Raditsu, holding out her hand. "Well, I look forward to competing with you."

Raditsu stared at the hand for a few moments, gaping. He glanced up toward Vegeta with wide eyes, and the prince tilted his head in confusion for a few moments before his own eyes widened. The prince leapt forward and pulled Bulma away, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Raditsu raised his eyebrows significantly and then sighed, shrugging.

"It's called a handshake," Vegeta clarified to him quietly, cutting through the awkward silence. "It's for, er, personal connection with someone one has just made an agreement with. 'Sealing the deal,' as they say." Raditsu nodded, still apparently fazed. "Here," Vegeta held his own hand out. "If you're a businessman in the making, you need to learn how to do this."

Raditsu shrunk away, apparently disgusted. "Really?"

"Yes. Come now, hand out."

The taller man winced, looking away as he held his hand toward Vegeta, who grabbed it and shook it firmly.

"Just don't break their wrists," he advised, and as Raditsu continued to wince even after their contact broke, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Oh, goddammit, Raditsu, it doesn't mean that here. Get over it. I've seen how things work around here—you're going to be shaking hands with lots of people, including," he motioned to himself, "lots of _men_. Businessmen such as," he snickered, "yourself." With a chortle, he added, "And not a one of them will mind it. They'll _expect _it."

Raditsu bit his lip. "Seriously?"

"Someone care to explain?" Bulma piped up, hands squirming in her pockets as she debated what might happen if she removed them.

Vegeta simply extended his hand in the same pre-handshake gesture as before, this time toward Bulma, and then twitched his fingers slightly to indicate its meaning. At Bulma's continued confusion, he twitched his fingers again—more this time—resulting in a grabbing motion. His lips pulled back to reveal a toothy smirk. "I'm surprised you've never noticed me making this gesture at you before."

She buried her forehead against her hand. "All right. I get it."

"Anything else I need to know?" Raditsu asked, apparently still disconcerted. "About these Earthling rituals."

Vegeta seemed to ponder this before turning to Raditsu with a twisted smirk. "You know, maybe you'll just have to find out the hard way—like I did." Bulma snickered from behind him, and he waved his hand as if to dismiss her.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You'll be fine," Vegeta gave him a hearty pat on the back as he opened the door, effectively shoving him out and still grinning maliciously. "Better leave now or Bulma will have you sized up before you even have a chance." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "I mean it."

"What if I don't want to do this whole 'business' thing?" he challenged from the doorway. Bulma's eyes seemed to burst into flame, and he shrunk away, looking to Vegeta, who nodded sagely.

"You'd best be off," the prince advised, and Raditsu nodded slowly and turned away.

"And hurry up!" Bulma called. "Or else!"

Vegeta closed the door quietly, smirk lingering. _This should be...entertaining._


	4. 04

NOTE: Sorry my chapters for this are so short. I figure frequency is probably better anyway, and I've pretty much accepted that my humor stuff always ends up having shorter chapters than the more serious stuff. Maybe it has something to do with punchlines.  
Anyway, hope you guys are enjoying this. Thanks to all who've left reviews!

...

"You would think he could've given me a little help," Raditsu grumbled, scraping his boots against the sidewalk as he trudged along. His armor was garnering him quite a few quizzical glances, and more yelps and screams than his passively sullen face warranted—did they remember the Saiyajin as they had appeared, years ago? "Some all-powerful balls those are," and the fellow nearest him, upon hearing this, decided that his turn was at this corner, not the next one.

He didn't know a thing about starting a business, let alone running one, so it seemed that the being that had brought him back to life to do so had made the wrong choice. He wasn't complaining—it was great to get out of Hell, if only until his next inevitable death—but each time he thought of the look that Bulma shot him when he threatened not to start a business at all, he paled visibly. Whatever she would do to him for not—what was it?—competing with her?—whatever it was, it was surely worse than death. She certainly seemed to have Vegeta under control, and he shivered to imagine how she'd done it.

But he wasn't about to kill himself over it. He'd just have to give it a try. After all, he was aware of business procedures on some level, right? All the years he'd spent under Freeza, at least he'd learned something here and there. Could he clear the inhabitants out of their homes and sell the buildings? Perhaps destroy all the other competing businesses and steal their greatest leaders to do most of the work?

What did these people want? What did this Bulma woman sell, anyway? Maybe he'd have to ask around. Raditsu searched for the nearest graspable collar.

...

"So do you think he can do it?" Bulma was now shuffling through her papers, the small sketches she'd made, the sticky notes in her magazines. "You know him better than I do."

Vegeta shrugged. "He does seem like a bizarre choice—maybe the dragon _was_ just messing with us. But," he glanced toward the notes, smirking a bit, "I suppose we'll see, in time. Perhaps he's just the tool an already existing company needs to get to the top. He wasn't a half-bad grunt worker under Freeza, after all, weakling though he was..."

"As long as he doesn't start blowing my buildings up," Bulma huffed.

"Don't, worry," Vegeta crept up beside her, snatching away the papers. "Say, are these ideas for products?"

"Yeah," Bulma grinned. "Guess I'm getting a little head of myself."

"And Raditsu. You know, it'll probably take him a while."

She raised one shoulder nonchalantly. "A girl can dream."

"Say—" and by the way his eyebrows arched, this seemed to be the topic he'd been steering toward, "You seem...energetic."

"Don't even think about it!" she snatched her papers back. "Not yet! I have work to do!" And she was down to the lab before Vegeta could open his mouth again. He absently leaned against the couch, outstretching his arm and pretending to shake someone's hand, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

...

"And what does she sell?" he demanded.

"Capusles! Uh—cars! Computers! Y'—y'know—everything!"

"Food?"

"Maybe, I guess..." the man shivered, struggling against the spiky-haired fellow who seemed far too strong, even for his impressive build. "I...I dunno..."

"What about—houses?"

"Y-yeah!"

"And property?"

"Probably...uh...s-sir..."

"Garments?"

"Er...I-I'd guess so, I mean, maybe, maybe indirectly..."

"I see," Raditsu released the man, who crumpled to the ground, shivering. He seemed to consider something at length, and the man remained frozen in place, afraid to so much as twitch. Eventually, his lip curled up in disgust and he stretched his hand out. "Thanks," he spoke through clenched teeth.

The shaken man took Raditsu's hand, and the Saiyajin resisted the urge to disembowel him on the spot—for the sake of practice, for when he was running his business and not letting that Bulma woman lay a finger on _his _all-powerful—

"O-of course, sir," the man stuttered, conveying his genuine happiness that he was still alive, and a rectangular badge affixed to his shirt seemed to glimmer along with his over-exaggerated smile, "a p-_pleasure_."

Raditsu screamed at his word choice, flailing in alarm and, in the process, driving his foot through the man's gut.

Quivering in an uncomfortable mixture of rage and confusion, he turned away and left the scene slowly, barely hearing the cries of the small portion of citizens who seemed to be concerned about the man bleeding to death as he leaned against the pastry shop. _It's all part of the learning process..._ he clenched his fists. _Practice makes perfect... No, dammit, that's something Nappa would say._

...

"Now, now," Nappa grabbed Bardock's fist. "That wasn't very nice," he patted him roughly on the back, sending him tumbling back to the ground. "And it wasn't very effective either, hate to say it, buddy. How about you try that attack again? Practice makes perfect, you know!"

"I'm not _trying_ to _spar_ you," Bardock hissed through his teeth. "I'm _trying _to go spend some time _alone_. Over _there_. Where you _aren't_."

"Well sor-_ry_!" Nappa turned his nose up, and inside Bardock rejoiced at this indication that the large Saiyajin was finally catching on. "I have plenty of other friends to go help, and spend time with, and spar with, and _play cards_ with, and fight with, and blow things up with, and—" as he lowered his gaze back to the other Saiyajin, he sighed. Bardock was gone.

...

Raditsu was ready to scrounge up a meal and retire for the evening—to a tree, or perhaps a lean-to, or to one of the many temporary living spaces he found the city would provide him if he showed the owners of the buildings just how strong he was—but Raditsu felt a mysterious force pulling him to the outskirts of the city. Perhaps there he would find some gathering from which he could steal all the food he could want for dinner—his luck had run fairly high with this for the few nights before. There seemed to be no end to fancy parties in this city, nor to people too weak to defend them.

But his nose detected no food in the immediate vicinity. Wait—it did—but only faintly; perhaps from a gathering earlier that day. He swore at himself and prepared to take to the skies in search of more temporally convenient sustenance, but his eyes were drawn to a flickering neon sign and a crowd of baffled humans surrounding it.

"Raditsu's Sports Hut," it read—in his very own Saiyajin language, no less!—the characters messily drawn but legible, apparently affixed directly atop a different sign. He made his way toward the humans.

"What's this?" he growled to the nearest one, who stood at the edge of the group and scratched his head violently.

"Dunno; can you read it?"

"'Raditsu's Sprots Hut,'" the Saiyajin rolled his eyes, as if this should be obvious to the human.

"What the hell is a Raditsu?"

"I'm Raditsu." A significant portion of the crowd was now listening, and whispering stirred up among them.

"What did you do to our dessert shop? What did you do to our _manager_?" the man directly beside him asked.

"What?"

He raised one trembling finger toward a limp body. It had been dragged some distance back to this place—not that this was obvious by any visual clues—no scrapes, his clothes more or less intact—but Raditsu knew. He knew by the body's distinctively cavernous gut and the way that his fists began to shake again at the sight. "I killed him," he answered, bemusement matching his anger at the sight, stride for stride. "Earlier today." He glanced up to the sign, and back to the crowd, each face now focusing on him.

"S-so do you run this place now?" a young woman's trembling voice arose from the horde. "Since it has your name on it?"

"Were you the guy who replaced all our cakes and pastries with elbow pads and baseball bats?" another voice squeaked.

"We have no idea how to run this place!" a fellow with a shinier name badge than most piped up. "We weren't trained for this! What were you thinking?"

"You'd better make this right, weirdo!"

"_He killed the manager_!"

"What kind of a business strategy is this?"

"If I get fired, my dad's gonna kill me..."

"We should turn him in to the police!"

The small mob began shouting and moving closer to Raditsu as each member had something to scream at him. "I'm not working for _you_!" one howled, and a dozen others cheered in agreement.

"You! Radish man!" the man with the shiniest badge of all of them stepped forward, readjusting his glasses. "Explain yourself!"

This was _not _what he'd had in mind when he'd envisioned "a little help," and he had the distinct feeling that a certain someone was perfectly aware of this. Raditsu tossed his head back, throwing his middle fingers up to the sky, and roared. "_Goddammit, dragon!_"


	5. 05

"So," the man with the second-shiniest badge—after Raditsu's—paced up to the Saiyajin, who was carefully observing the objects on the shelves and walls, poking at a baseball glove as if he expected it would come to life at any moment. "How long have you been selling sports equipment?"

Raditsu glanced up to the circular object in the front of the shop, which he'd learned told the time. "About eight minutes."

"Radish man," he started, and Raditsu's eye twitched, "You're one funny guy." His voice dropped to a whisper so that none of the other employees could hear, "But seriously, I do hope you're kidding." When the Saiyajin shook his head, the young man groaned. "Why the _hell_ are you our manager?"

"Because I was brought back from Hell to do it," Raditsu's eyes widened as he spoke overdramatically, and he chuckled as the fellow jumped away.

"Y-you _are _one funny guy," he stuttered, laughing nervously.

Raditsu's smirk lingered as he observed the other employees, who all apparently heard his comment, and were responding with varying amounts of discomfort. A few shivered in their shoes, having not quite gotten over the fact that this man had slaughtered their boss less than twenty-four hours ago, and didn't seem particularly sorry or even concerned about the matter. When he'd accidentally yanked the shop's door off its hinges the evening before, and with a shrug tossed it aside (to the next block; someone screamed and then stopped abruptly), they'd all gotten the distinct impression that it really wouldn't be necessary to report this man to police—for their own safety.

"Minion!" he called too-loudly to the man with whom he'd been conversing. "What is your name?"

"M-Mark, sir," he shivered. "Y-you probably have a list of all of us somewhere. Like in the manager's office," he suggested. "And," at Raditsu's raised eyebrow, which seemed to denote mere curiosity, "and I'd like you to know that my title is 'assistant manager.'"

"Nonsense," Raditsu turned away. "Now where is—" he was interrupted by the melodic tinkling of a bell affixed to the recently replaced door.

"Well, son, looks like it's a sports equipment store," a man patted his young son's shoulder before turning his attention to the employees. "I can't seem to read the text on your sign up front," he told them. "But I guess this isn't a dessert shop anymore, is it?"

The employees shook their heads and turned to Raditsu, waiting. Mark nudged him forward, whispering, "Introduce yourself to them," he suggested. "Rapport with your customers!"

Raditsu shrugged, crossing his arms and grinning as he stepped to the front. "I am Raditsu, the owner of this establishment, feared across the universe as one of the few surviving members of the Saiyajin race, previously employed by the tyrant Freeza as a professional clearer of—"

"_Whoa_," the child sprinted past him, "Dad, look at this _bat_!" He handed it to his father.

The man seemed to inspect it for a few moments. "This is one of the highest-quality bats I've seen in West City," he handed it back to his son and focused his attention on Raditsu. "Do you have any way for my son to test it out, see if it's really as durable as it looks?"

"I'mma be a baseball _legend_!" the boy grinned, swinging the bat.

"Er," Raditsu scratched his head, glancing around to the other employees, who seemed to be just as confused as he was. "Sure, I guess. Hit me as hard as you can." All eyes were on him, all mouths agape, except for the child's. He took his stance, and before his father could stop him, swung the bat just as Raditsu had recommended.

The Saiyajin blinked. "Are you gonna—oh," he watched as the boy pulled the bat back, and Mark, for all his disbelief, elbowed him, "I mean, _oh!_ _Ouch_! Wow, what a...high-quality...apparatus!" He rubbed his arm, although the bat had only struck his side, and glanced at Mark with raised eyebrows, perhaps waiting for a nod of approval.

"You're kidding," the boy's father blinked. "You didn't even flinch, even with my son's winning swing behind that bat."

"Well," Raditsu started, but realized he had nothing to say that could defend himself. "I, er, I..."

"I assure you," Mark stepped forward, "That the baseball bat your son holds is of the highest quality. However, even the most forceful blows are nothing a-against this...uh...new model of baseball _armor_ that our daring manager Radish is wearing!"

The boy gasped. "Daddy, Daddy, I want it!"

"How much for the armor?"

Raditsu's eyes darted to Mark for the answer, and fortunately (he considered thanking the dragon for the one favorable piece of this deal so far, but abstained), it came. "Sorry, sir, but we're out at the moment. It's, er, it's very popular, you see."

"Of course," the man nodded, pulling a rectangular object from his pocket and scribbling something down. "If I give you my phone number, can you call me when you have more in stock?"

"Why, yes!" Mark smiled. "Of course, of course."

The man handed Raditsu a slip of paper covered in strange characters. Raditsu grabbed it and stared for a few moments, trying to decipher it, before handing it to Mark, and decided to try his hand at the game his minion was playing. "Put it in the very important place where we put such important things as this piece of paper!" he commanded.

Mark readjusted his glasses and nodded, coughing in the hopes that it would mask the fact that he had just choked on his own saliva. "Yes, sir," he turned to the customers, "and thanks for your business. Gina here can ring that bat up for you," he shrugged to one of the employees, who gulped and nodded. He turned away, striding with purpose with paper in hand.

"Say, Radish, you really put yourself out there for your customers," the father extended one arm out to the Saiyajin. "Thanks a lot."

Biting his lip, Raditsu clutched the man's hand and shook it. When the man let go he massaged his fingers, mustering a smile over his pained grimace and guiding his son to the cash register.

_I need to go see Vegeta again,_ the Saiyajin decided, _when this accursed shack closes for the night...to see if there's a way for me to get more of this armor..._

...

Goku rapped on the door again. This way took a lot longer than just teleporting in, but a lot of the time that had turned out to be not such a good idea. Finally, it swung open, and Bulma greeted him with a grin. "Hey, Son! Come on in!"

"Thanks, Bulma," Goku smiled. "I was just looking for Vegeta, 'cause he—" the man froze as he spotted the prince.

"So, honestly, I can't help you," Vegeta seemed to be finishing an explanation, and then he turned to Goku. "Kakarrot! Look who Bulma's wish brought back," he smirked. "Your dear old brother."

"Raditsu," Goku spoke, his voice even and carefully neutral, although Vegeta was sure he heard a quiver of excitement. "_You're_ gonna be Bulma's competition?"

"So you knew," Raditsu spoke, equally evenly, "about that wish."

"Vegeta told me," Goku nodded, carefully taking a seat across from him. "Whoa. Who'da thought?" he mused quietly.

"I feel like we should, er, give these two some time," Bulma piped up, images that she had believed had long since faded from her memory—of Goku and Raditsu dead on the battlefield when she and the others had arrived—were making themselves known again.

Vegeta, too, sensed the tension between them. "Trunks is waiting for me in the gravity room, anyway," he agreed mildly, and soon the two of them were gone.

"Traitorous sonnuvabitch," Raditsu muttered quietly once their footsteps faded. "I can't believe it."

"Can't believe what?" Goku blinked, reaching up to his chest for a moment before realizing what he was doing and lowering his hand.

"How you got all the power in the family," he mumbled. "Mutant freak."

"Hey, maybe I am," Goku laughed nervously. As Raditsu's cool gaze continued to bore into him, Goku decided his usual approach would be best—that he'd tackle the problem head on. "Look, Raditsu. Er...sorry. I hope you know that we had t' do it."

Raditsu maintained his glare, silent.

"Anyway, j-just don't kill any more people, arright? You're not working for Freeza anymore, right? So...so you don't have to."

"I did it because I liked it," he answered through clenched teeth. "Not because anyone told me to."

Goku bit his lip. He'd forgiven Vegeta for it, somehow, so he knew he would have to do the same for his brother. "Yeah. Well...er...well I like this planet, a lot. So don't hurt anybody."

"Don't exactly have much of a choice," he grumbled, "being as you can kick my ass back to Hell if you like, and I'd like to stay away from there for at least a few more years. But if I decide to," he paused, "if I decide to, even you can't stop a few deaths. I can do whatever I want, see." Raditsu seemed to take some solace in this. "And whoever I kill before you stop me, you can't do nothing but avenge 'em."

"Er...right," the man scratched his head, unsure of how to respond, and a few brief moments of silence ensued before Goku cleared his throat and continued. "Um, Raditsu, you know, I really hated you back then, 'cause you hurt Kuririn and took Gohan and all. It was just a really big shock...that I had a brother an'...he wasn't near as nice as me."

Raditsu's frown deepened and he focused his gaze on his folded arms. "Whatever. At least _I_ have the pride of my people," he snorted, and then muttered under his breath, "Goddamn turncoat ain't no brother of mine."

"I've been learning," Goku raised his eyebrows, and Raditsu glanced up. "About how to be a Saiyajin, kinda, you know, from Vegeta. I've learned a lot from him. I, I don't so much mind the idea anymore, y'know, and I guess you were right about how much I love fighting, at least. I...I'm more of a Saiyajin now, I guess—more like Vegeta, kinda." His brother seemed to consider this. "Ain't ever gonna have quite so much pride, though."

"Well," Raditsu muttered gruffly, holding his eyes on Goku and smirking a bit, "As much pride as Vegeta—that's a pretty high standard to hold to."

Goku grinned, snickering, and glanced toward the hallway into which Vegeta had seemed to disappear. He pinpointed Vegeta's _ki_, and it wasn't in the gravity room. "I think he might'a heard you," he bit his lip, still grinning.

"Nothing he didn't deserve," Raditsu's eyes lit mischievously and he glanced in the same direction as his brother had. "Arrogant bastard."

Goku snickered and leaned back, stretching his arms above him and resting the back of his head against his woven fingers. "So how're you gonna compete with Bulma, anyhow? I've known her for a long time, and trust me, she's real smart."

"You've known her for a long time?" Raditsu repeated, smirking. "Is that so?"

"Yup," Goku nodded. "Years an' years. Since I was a kid."

Raditsu's smirk spread into a toothy grin. "Really..."


	6. 06

"Say, Kakarrot," Raditsu raised an eyebrow, and Goku raised one in return, inquisitively. "How'd you like to help me out?"

"Is that against the rules?" Goku pondered.

Raditsu snickered. "Rules? Come on, little brother. Ain't no rules in anything but card games. And even then, it's sketchy."

Goku frowned a bit at this, and Raditsu cursed himself for forgetting his brother's apparent obsession with all things fair and nice. He opened his mouth and hoped that something that could save his statement would spew out, but Goku beat him to it with a slightly baffled, "Well, I've never played cards, so..."

"Sweet gods," Raditsu whistled lowly, "no wonder you still don't seem like half a Saiyajin." He smirked. _Bet you're not half as good as your father, either. And I'd _bet_ you don't know too much about gambling..._ "I'll show you sometime."

The younger Saiyajin nodded, ready to be excited about Raditsu's apparent turn for the better but for that sneaky grin he wore as he spoke. Maybe there was something about cards he just didn't know yet. "O-okay. Sure."

"So how about helping me?"

Goku's eyebrows knit, trying to evaluate the devious sparkle in his brother's eye. "I, I guess I could, but I dunno how I'd help. I mean, I ain't that smart. Never went to school or nothin'. Maybe you should ask Vegeta."

"No," Raditsu stood, crossing his arms, "unfortunately, it seems the Bulma woman has somewhat of a stranglehold on him that prevents him from assisting me, and I suspect it originates at his ba—" they both turned to the nearest hallway, which seemed to be emitting an assortment of coughing and gagging noises, followed by high-pitched and uproarious laughter.

"Well, I guess it's 'cause Vegeta loves Bulma," Goku finished, "so it would be pretty mean of him to turn against her." He frowned. "'Cause, it's not exactly like she's Freeza. He had a good reason to turn against him, I guess."

"What, to become immortal?" Raditsu chuckled, and then he leaned in close to whisper, "Are you sure Bulma isn't like the Freeza of this planet? It seems that she controls everything."

"But she don't kill anyone, so I'd say she's not _so_ much like Freeza," Goku reminded him, a bit too loudly, for similar sounds erupted from the hallway, their pitches reversed.

Raditsu shrugged. "Whatever you say." He seemed to be mustering something up, and Goku wondered if he had learned how to raise his power level during the time he was dead, for momentarily his features reflected utmost inward focus. Finally, the Saiyajin exhaled, and, biting his lip, shakily extended one arm. For all his uncertain features, his voice was forceful. "Kakarrot, join forces with me."

When Goku didn't reach for his hand, Raditsu felt himself grow more confident as some of the tension melted away. "Together we can be the greatest power on the planet, and then—the universe!"

"Um," Goku started, but didn't seem to have anything else to say.

Raditsu amended, "Or at least, give your so-called friends what for." Goku chewed his tongue, indecisive about what this could mean, so Raditsu added, "You know. Like a competition. A challenge. What say you, Kakarrot?" Nervously he twitched the fingers of his outstretched hand, waiting for the moment of certain doom.

"Well, I guess if you put it like that...I ain't never backed down from a challenge against Vegeta. Sure. Okay! Let's do it!" He stood, grinning and nodding resolutely.

Raditsu smirked. "Excellent." Glancing down, he noticed his still-outstretched, still-empty hand, and grew uncomfortable with its proximity to his brother's groin. He blurted, "Are you shaking my hand or not, dammit?"

"What?" Goku blinked, glancing downward as if he hadn't noticed its extended position prior to Raditsu's mentioning it. "Guess I could. But, gee, Raditsu, I'm kind of surprised." The other Saiyajin blinked, waiting, and wondering if he was the only one who noticed the uncontrollable quivering of his hand as he prepared to recoil. "Well, I thought Saiyajin thought that that means something different."

Raditsu's jaw dropped and he scraped for words to explain himself, quickly crossing his arms.

"At least, when I tried t' shake Vegeta's hand the first time, he just freaked _out_." Goku snickered to himself. "It was priceless; you shoulda..."

"S-so...you aren't going to shake my hand?" Raditsu blinked. "Ever?"

"Don't make no difference to me," Goku shrugged. "Kick me in the shin, for all I care."

Raditsu grinned, mopping the nervous sweat from his brow with relief. "Don't mind if I do."

...

While hiding from Nappa certainly did provide a level of entertainment that nearly approached playing cards, Bardock grew increasingly frustrated with the game as Nappa improved. It didn't help that the guy seemed to know everyone, and didn't have a problem with asking passers-by if they'd seen him. This had made his attempts at gaining solitude—by the hour, or by the day when he was lucky—nearly impossible, so he'd taken to disguising himself. His red bandana was perhaps one of his most distinguishing features, but he was too attached to give it away; he tucked it into his armor along the back of his neck, where it would not be visible to anyone searching for it on his forehead.

And many in Hell were familiar with his son—Kakarrot, of course; hardly anyone knew Raditsu—so his hair was a problem as well. He tousled it frequently in the hopes of breaking up its distinctive shape.

He even pilfered armor from another Saiyajin, and was finally satisfied. _Let Nappa find me n—_

And his now-bare forehead slammed against the ground as he collapsed.

The little boy who looked just like Kakarrot was scratching his head as he explained something to Kakarrot himself, and from his view of the scene Bardock could see the concern on Kakarrot's face as he glanced toward Raditsu, who also frowned. They exchanged words, and Raditsu took something from Goten's hands—a gathering of papers, perhaps?—observing it for several moments before handing it to Goku, who shook his head.

Vegeta entered from past where he could see, whispering to the brothers as he nonchalantly laid his hand against Goten's head, disheveling his hair. He pointed to something on the papers and spoke with an expression so arrogant that only a Vegeta could wear it. As he left, Raditsu smirked and—

"Subplot!" Bardock blurted as he exploded back into consciousness.

"Imposter, more like!" came a regal voice from behind him. Bardock froze, afraid to turn around. While with his powers he could only see his son's future—now that he had none himself—he felt he already knew that what stood just over his shoulder was a fate worse than Nappa.

...

Around the corner, in the noisy hallway, there was brief chattering, and Vegeta emerged moments later without Bulma. "Touching reunion," he rolled his eyes toward Goku and Raditsu. "And by the way, the health of my reproductive organs is in my hands and no one else's." 

"Oh, I'll bet," Raditsu chortled, and Goku glanced between them confusedly, ready to shrug and give up on figuring it out but for the immense irritation etched onto Vegeta's face, which Goku had believed that only he could invoke.

"Goddammit, you _know _I didn't mean it like that," Vegeta growled, "And so you know, Raditsu, I haven't gotten any weaker since we last met."

Raditsu merely shrugged, smirking smugly as he suddenly realized the freedoms that standing beside his brother allowed him. "Anyway, I don't believe you. About your woman."

"Oh, yeah?" Vegeta nearly snarled, more upset than he wanted to admit about the sudden brazen confidence of the man. "I don't need to do everything for _her _just to make me happy!"

"Really?" Raditsu raised an eyebrow, and Goku considered jumping in to stop the conflict until Raditsu sent him a warning glance from the corner of his eye, raising his arm to block his brother from moving. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Vegeta crossed his arms. "Let me prove it to you. _I _recommend that for _your_ success you turn that sports shop back into a dessert shop. Your employees are already proficient with running it, and with his nearly unmatched experience with the foods of this planet, your dear Kakarrot will be invaluable to you in making culinary decisions." He turned his nose up with resolve. "See? There."

"Thanks, Vegeta," Raditsu's voice rolled from his throat smoothly, "I'll get right on it. Come, Kakarrot. Our prince's advice is sound. Quite the businessman himself. Wouldn't his mate be proud?"

Vegeta's eyes widened, and he gulped. "D...don't tell! That's not fair!"

Raditsu merely waved as he strode out the door, and Goku paused to stare at Vegeta, conflicted. _A contest_, a voice rang through his mind, _a competition._ "I think Raditsu would say...something about cards!" he blurted, and then bolted for the door.


	7. 07

NOTE: Are you guys enjoying this so far? It's turning out to be longer than I thought it would be (was originally planning that it wouldn't be much longer than Icebox). I want to finish as much of it as I can before the fall semester starts up, so you might be seeing more frequent updates this coming week. Don't let that stop you from leaving your thoughts. ;)

...

"Say," Goku caught up to Raditsu with little effort, and found him still smirking smugly. "Where have you been staying all this time, anyway? At night, I mean? Like...do you have a house?"

Raditsu shrugged. "I sleep here and there." It was probably best not to tell his brother about last night, when he terrorized the hotel manager by _accidentally_ kicking the front desk from of its position—fastened against the floor—over onto the man's toes. He was literally stuck to the spot, and, Raditsu decided, by this point may have felt less than inclined to notify any authorities, so he snatched a room card and drifted up the stairs. Surely enough, no uniformed fools arrived to wave at him the same useless object the farmer had tried to use against him. It probably helped that the manager, still pinned to the ground, couldn't reach the phone. Such things happened infrequently, but he suspected his brother would disapprove—and at the moment, he was hoping for the man's cooperation. "Usually in the woods outside the city."

"Oh," Goku nodded. "My house is in the woods, kinda in the middle of nowhere, I guess. Vegeta calls it the boon-somethings, but he's just jealous 'cause he can't teleport like I can," he winked.

"Teleport?" Raditsu paused.

"Yeah, like—if I can find a _ki_ then I can go to it. Easy with the strong guys, not so easy with the weaker ones. Guess that's part a' the reason I didn't find y—" he paused, reconsidering, at Raditsu's poisonous glare. "Anyway, so if I wanna go home now, I can, because I can find Gohan's _ki_, or Goten's. I could even find Chi's, if I tried real hard, 'cause I know it so well and all."

"Gohan—that brat that I—"

"That's the one," Goku smiled. "He's a lot bigger now, that's for sure. Always busy with school and stuff nowadays."

"And that other name?"

"Goten? My other kid. He's some years younger than Gohan...he an' Trunks are always finding some way to get into trouble. You know Trunks, right?"

Raditsu shook his head. "But I've heard him mentioned. Vegeta's?"

Goku nodded. "Yeah. Those little guys are always up to something."

"Hm," Raditsu answered thoughtfully, and Goku noticed another devious twinkle in his eye.

"I'd invite you over, but I think Chi-Chi would just about explode," Goku winced. "For one thing, she probably ain't keen on feeding another Saiyajin, what with how much she goes on about having to cook all day just to feed three of us. Plus," he added thoughtfully, "the second I introduce you, she'll remember how it's all your fault I died way back when, an' so on."

Raditsu snorted, but quickly resumed a proud smirk. "I suppose it is, isn't it?"

"And then she'd go crazy and kick you out, and prolly me for even trying, at least for a while." He frowned at the thought.

"This woman is stronger than you are, Kakarrot?" Raditsu raised an eyebrow, one part dubious and one part scared for his life.

"Naw," Goku shrugged. "Not by a long shot. She's pretty strong for a human, but..."

"So what's the big deal? She can't kick you out for doing a thing." When Goku tilted his head in confusion, Raditsu grudgingly added, "I mean, you're fucking _Kakarrot_." Pausing, he resolved, "You're a Saiyajin, dammit!"

"She has...ways..." Goku answered quietly, eyes wide. "Just believe me on this one."

"Kakarrot," Raditsu crossed his arms and continued matter-of-factly, "The women of your planet are disturbing."

...

"And so," Raditsu motioned to the clock, "when the round thing looks like this, it means it's time that customers start entering." Goku nodded, observing it carefully.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" Mark stormed up to them. "All our merchandise is gone! Was there a robbery?"

"Oh!" Raditsu seemed to recall something, and whipped around to pull the side of the shelf away from its fixture. "We need to make a new sign. My dear minion, this will be a dessert shop once more!"

"R-really?" Mark blinked, taken aback. "That's why you took out all the sports equipment?"

Raditsu nodded and leaned in close toward Mark. Goku followed his lead, and it was all Mark could do not to scream as the murderer and a fellow with equally unnatural hair encroached so disturbingly into his personal space. "I don't know what you use for dessert-making," Raditsu admitted. "I was hoping you could make a list. You and the other lackeys know how to do this already, right?"

"We are your _employees_—" Mark corrected, "And yes, I can do that for you, and yes, we are all quite proficient with our craft. But what are you going to do for today? We can't possibly have everything ready, maybe not even by tomorrow. For goodness sakes, we don't even know where all our equipment went! The ovens! The mixers!"

"List," Raditsu nudged him. "And, well..." he glanced up to the numerous would-be customers, pounding at the door. "I locked the place up, so we won't have any customers today."

"Goddammit," Mark rubbed his temples. "You have _no idea _what you're doing, do you?"

"On the contrary," Raditsu straightened his back, moving away, "I have brought in my younger brother, Kakarotto—"

"Goku!" the other Saiyajin chimed in.

"_Kakarotto_, who will be critiquing your work and making sure only the finest foods are produced. He will be part of the, erm..._creative team_."

Mark rolled his eyes. "As long as I'm getting paid. But I advise you put up a 'closed' sign so that no one breaks the door down."

"Right!" Raditsu nodded, and Mark handed him a marker while fishing out a spare manila folder that could be used as a sign. "Er, say, Kakarrot..." he handed him the marker, and then the folder. "Could you write 'closed'—"

"—_until further notice_," Mark added.

"'Closed until further notice,' on that paper?"

Goku blinked, grasping the marker awkwardly. "Um...s-sure...but..."

"Well?" Raditsu glanced nervously toward the growing crowd outside the shop. He bit his lip as his first-ever customer and his son appeared at the front of the crowd, the boy wielding a high-quality baseball bat. "Go on!"

"I—I'm sorry!" Goku wailed. "I can't write!"

Mark snatched the marker away, finding it increasingly difficult to convince himself that physically attacking his two heavily muscled superiors was against his best interests. "Oh. My. God."

...

"Oh. My. God." He _knew _he shouldn't have turned around.

"_You_," the stately voice continued, "must be dealt with immediately! Men! Take him back to the castle!"

"What the _hell_ are you saying? You're fucking _alone_," Bardock spat.

"'You're fucking alone, _sir_,'" he corrected matter-of-factly. "And no, no I'm not. Now, no more talk. My personal guard will be dealing with you shortly."

"Nutcase," Bardock mumbled, standing up and brushing himself off.

"Nutcase, _sir_—"

"_No_, you crazy sonnuvabitch! Just a fucking nutcase!"

"Takes one to know one," came a raspberry and a bitter voice.

"Yeah, well, at least I have an excuse," Bardock motioned to his head. "What with the constant visions. Besides, I didn't just mistake _me_ for _you_."

"Ah! Well, you are clearly committing a most heinous crime by attempting to impersonate your king. Look—the red cape, the regal sweeping hair, the colors of your armor—why—"

"Oh, goddammit," Bardock massaged the bridge of his nose. He yanked the bandana from its previous position—tucked into the back of his armor—and straightened his hair back out to its normal state with relative ease. "There? Better? Will you leave me alone now?"

"Hm," King Vegeta frowned, glancing him over. "Acceptable."

"You do realize that there is no 'personal guard' anywhere near you, don't you?"

"That's what you think," he narrowed his eyes, smirking. "But watch out."

"All right, whatever you say," Bardock began to turn away, before seeming to realize something. "Aw, shit, I need a new disguise." He shot King Vegeta an accusing glare for having taken away that which seemed to have been working fairly well for him. The king was crazy, but he could certainly beat Bardock to the ground if it came to that, so he was not about to insist on continuing to wear his apparently blasphemous camouflage.

"A disguise," King Vegeta repeated thoughtfully. "Nappa, eh?"

Bardock nodded, and the king sighed. "What, you know the guy?"

"Too well."

"Obnoxious bastard."

"Indeed."

"Say, you play cards?"

...

"Why didn't you _tell_ me that you're illiterate?" Raditsu sighed, glancing over the list Mark had composed. "I can't read a damn scribble of this and you know it."

"Sorry," Goku mumbled. "I used to be able to read, but, y'know, I don't usually _need _to...I guess my memory's a little fuzzy. I...I thought maybe you could."

"Why the _hell_ would I—" he cut himself short. "Your son."

"Huh? Well, yeah, I guess Gohan and Goten can both read okay. Maybe we could ask them. But really, we could probably ask just about anybody...why don't you just find that Mark guy again and have him read the list out loud?"

"I have a few..._other ideas_ for your younger brat, translator aside."

"Yeah?" Goku raised his eyebrows. "Nothing _bad_, right? You ain't gonna try to hurt him or nothin'?"

"No, no," Raditsu chuckled. "He'll have fun."

"Well," Goku shrugged. "All right. Want me to go get him right now?" Raditsu nodded, and Goku disappeared.

...

"Hey, Vegeta," Bulma peered up from her sketches, spread out over the bed as if a continuation of her flowing satin nightgown. "You're retiring earlier than usual. Already done with your training?"

The prince ignored her question, glancing over the papers. "Food."

"What? Oh, come _on_ Vegeta, I _know _you know how to feed yourself."

"No, woman!" He shoved some of her sketches to the side, to clear a spot for him to recline on the bed. "Desserts. A dessert shop."

Bulma snatched her papers up indignantly, organizing them and flattening out those Vegeta had managed to crumple. "What's this, now?"

"That's what Raditsu's doing, and he's enlisted Kakarrot's assistance."

"Goku?" Bulma giggled. "Helping run a business?"

"A _dessert shop_," Vegeta corrected. "And the man knows food."

"Hm," Bulma considered this, slipping her papers into an oversized folder that leaned against the bed. "I guess you might be right."

"If you want to compete with him as soon as you possibly can, I'd suggest you get into the dessert business yourself. At the very least, the food industry."

"I was just thinking that." She leaned back to observe the man. "How'd you know?"

"Know what?"

"That that's what Raditsu was doing?"

Vegeta froze for a moment. "Er, overheard."

Bulma grinned. "Well, if Raditsu's as good as Shenlong seems to think he was—by bringing _him_ back, of all people!—then I can't wait to have some _real_ competition. Even if it's just food to start..." She leaned over to plant a kiss on Vegeta's cheek. "Thanks."

"On the cheek? That all I get?" Vegeta smirked, turning to face her.

"If you become my assistant, I might give you a raise," she winked.

"Done."


	8. 08

"Hey, kid," Raditsu squatted down, smirking. Goten shrunk back behind Goku, shivering. "What? What is it? What's wrong with you?"

"You're scary," Goten murmured. "I don't like you."

"I'm your uncle Raditsu," he lowered his voice and tried to squeeze his toothy grin down into an innocent smile. "I'm your dad's brother."

"Man," Goten rolled his eyes, stepping out slightly as he relaxed. "How many more times is this gonna happen?"

"Wh-what?" Goku blinked, glancing up to see just as much confusion beneath Raditsu's features. "What do you mean by that, kiddo?"

"I mean a guy I've never seen shows up and it turns out he's related to me! First you, now him! Where'd he come from?"

"He was...um, well, he was dead too," Goku admitted, and Goten simply rolled his eyes again. At Raditsu's continued baffled expression, Goku explained. "Um, I was dead from before he was born 'til he was seven."

"Damn," Raditsu whistled. "You're worse than _our _father. At least he saw you before he died." He pondered this for a moment. "I think."

"I have a grandpa?" Goten blinked. "Can I meet him?"

"Dead," Raditsu explained. "And doubt you'd want to anyway. Cheats at cards." He seemed to muse briefly at the thought. "I do miss the guy."

Goku shrugged. "Guess you'll get to see him again eventually. Hey, Raditsu, why did you want Goten here, 'sides to read the list? Oh!" he pulled it out, "And I figured out the first one. It's 'space tools.'"

"Really?" Raditsu took it, and then stuffed it into Goten's hands. "You can read, right, kid?"

"Well, sure, I guess," Goten blinked, glancing over the list, "besides really big words. But that doesn't say space tools, it says spatula!"

"What's a spatula?" Goku bit his lip.

"Hell if I know."

"It's that thing Mom uses," Goten made a motion in the air, tracing its shape. "To flip pancakes!"

Raditsu grinned and ruffled his hair. "You're useful already, kid! But I have another idea for something you can do for us."

"Do I get money?"

Raditsu opened his mouth, but Goku spoke first. "Um...Raditsu is paying me in pastries," he shrugged. "Maybe he can pay you that way, too?"

The older Saiyajin grinned. "A fine idea, Kakarrot."

"I like pastries," Goten nodded. "Okay. What do I have to do?"

"I heard you're best friends with Bulma's whelp."

"Trunks?"

"Yes, him. When you go over to play at his house, can you do me a favor?"

Goten shuffled restlessly, trying to evaluate his uncle's sly expression. "Maybe?"

Raditsu clapped him on the shoulder, and Goten stumbled forward a bit in surprise. "I want you to look over his mother's shoulder and memorize what she's working on. Then, come back and tell me."

"Can Trunks help?"

"Absolutely not!" Raditsu shook his finger, pulling Goten closer as he slung one arm over the boy's shoulders. "This is a secret for just us. It's a game."

"Oh."

"It's just for our family. You and me and your dad—we're all family, right?" he raised his eyebrows. "So keep it a secret just for us."

Goten frowned at his glimmering teeth, but nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Raditsu leaned in closer, whispering. "Say, are you your father's favorite son?"

"I...I dunno," he fidgeted with the sash of his gi.

"Well," Raditsu winked. "If you're not, you should be. You are one remarkable young fellow."

Goten's expression bloomed into a smile. "Thanks, Mister Raditsu!"

"_Uncle _Raditsu. Now how about you go play with your friend?" he stood back up. "And don't forget our deal! It's a secret!" Goten nodded vigorously, getting a skipping start before rocketing into the sky.

"I didn't know you got along with kids so well," Goku watched his son as he left. "After how mean you were to Gohan."

"That was business."

"I thought this is business?"

"That was personal," Raditsu amended, as if he had not made the mistake in the first place. "You don't know what you're talking about, Kakarrot."

"Okay."

"Now, let's get ourselves a spatula."

"That's a number five right after," Goku pointed to the item on the list.

"Let's get ourselves five spatulas."

...

"A-ha! The five of spatulas!"

Bardock remained unmoving, his stare deadpan. "I swear to every god up and down the ladder that if you cannot call the cards by their real names _I will leave_."

"You can't tell me that's not a spatula!" King Vegeta flung the card at Bardock, who caught it. "See?"

"What—you're serious?" he blinked, taken aback. "What's a spatula?" Bardock stared at the card.

"That thing!" the king leaned across the table to point to the symbol.

"What, a rectangle connected to a line?"

"By definition, that is a spatula."

"Get yourself some fucking _normal_ cards," Bardock huffed, ripping it up. "Your deck doesn't make a lick of sense. And stop making words up, while you're at it."

"'Get yourself some fucking normal cards, _sir_,'" the king corrected.

"Sure thing," Bardock fished a pack from somewhere in his armor and slammed them down on the table. "There. _Normal_ cards."

"I meant—" King Vegeta started, and then picked up the deck of cards with interest. "These cards have _baseball parallelograms._"

"What the _hell_ is a baseball?" Bardock roared. "Moreover, what the hell is a parallelogram?"

"I don't know what a baseball is," King Vegeta huffed, "But that is definitely, by definition, a baseball parallelogram. And, you ignorant peasant, a parallelogram is a shape which—"

"Blah, blah, blah," Bardock rolled his eyes. "Bored already."

"Didn't you receive an education?"

Bardock snorted, unsuccessfully holding back his laughter. "What planet were _you_ a king of?"

"V-Vegeta..." he stammered. "Was it really that bad?"

"You know what's bad?" Bardock began shuffling the cards. "_School_."

"What?"

"Well, you probably had the highest education in the place, and look how fucked up you turned out to be."

King Vegeta frowned, but didn't have time to speak, as before he could so much as open his mouth, Bardock's head smacked against the table.

...

"Trunks?"

"Yeah?" the boy pulled his boots back on.

"We're like brothers, right?"

From the other side of the gravity room, Vegeta snorted. Trunks dropped his voice. "Sure, I guess. Why?"

"So you're kind of like my family."

"I guess."

"So Uncle Raditsu was wrong!" Goten grinned triumphantly, earning a raised eyebrow from Vegeta as he pretended to continue working out. "That means it's allowed."

"What's allowed?"

"It's a secret," Goten whispered. "Let's get out of here and I'll tell you."

...

"Trunks," Vegeta stepped in front of his son as he swung the door open. "Do you have anything you'd like to tell me?"

The boy shook his head, gulping. "Nope, Dad. Say, uh—wanna—um—that is—you're looking great today!"

"Spare me," the prince crossed his arms. "I saw you and Kakarrot's brat strategically roughhousing around Bulma's work area yesterday evening."

"Yeah," Trunks mirrored his father's pose, deciding to change his tactic. "Because um—because Goten is a liar and a cheater!"

"Please," he rolled his eyes. "Don't try to fool me."

"Should I tell Mom that they're cheating? I mean, it sounds like they're doing super well already, 'cause Goten read some list to them yesterday and then—"

"Gods, no!" Vegeta's eyes widened in panic, and he placed one hand upon his son's shoulder. "You and I must," he paused, chewing his tongue, "must...make a princely pact never to tell your mother about what Kakarrot, his child, and his brother are doing at this juncture, nor of their alarmingly immediate success."

Trunks frowned. "How come?"

"Because I was the one who—because it is part of the competition."

"So should I spy on them, and tell mom?"

Vegeta seemed to consider this. "Don't waste her time. Come tell me and I'll tell her the important parts."

"Goten says his dad and his uncle can't read," Trunks divulged with gusto, as if he had been waiting to blurt it ever since learning it.

"Already knew that one," Vegeta shrugged.

"Why can't they?"

"Raditsu isn't from here," he waved his hand. "Anyway, those third-class brains haven't a penchant for leaning such things. If Kakarrot ever learned to write, he likely forgot. I, however, picked it up quickly, being of royal blood." He smirked smugly.

"I'm glad you're a prince," Trunks grinned, "and not a moron like Goten's dad." Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, but froze as a familiar sound caused the hair on the back of his neck to prickle.

"_Vegeta_!" Bulma shrieked from down the hallway.

His eyes were saucers. "Y-yes?"

"Do you have any idea why Goku just called me?"

"No," he whimpered.

"Because I do!"

"R-really," he feigned disinterest as Bulma rounded the corner, fists balled and arms pinned to her sides.

"He said he wanted advice from you," she seethed.

"Well, clearly I—"

"He said he wanted _more _advice from you." Bulma shoved her sleeves up over her biceps, widening her stance.

Vegeta gulped. "Have I ever mentioned how beautiful you are when you're angry?"


	9. 09

Bulma was unrelenting in her fury. She bared her teeth and growled in a way that Vegeta thought only Saiyajin women could—mostly in a way that reminded him of what little he saw of his mother in his youth.

"Trunks," he muttered gravely, "Take care of your mother."

His son's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open, but before he could respond, Vegeta was out the door.

...

"What do you think, Kakarrot?" Raditsu nodded toward the pile of berries.

"Hm," the man considered them. "What are you putting it in, again?"

"Muffins."

"_Oh,_" Goku licked his lips, and Raditsu shrunk away in fear that the saliva that pooled at the corners of his brother's mouth might drop onto him. "I think..." he sniffed at a few of the berries. "This one."

"And it's not poisonous?" Raditsu took it, frowning in disgust as Goku turned quickly to look over his shoulder at an employee who carried a tray of fresh pound cake; a drip of his saliva sailed through the air and landed upon Raditsu's apron. His lips curled downward and he snatched a nearby paper towel.

"Nope," Goku answered absently, still staring at the pound cake. "Chi puts them in pancakes all the time."

"Pancakes?"

"Hey, we should make pancakes! Yeah!" Goku grinned, returning his attention to the remaining berries that he held in his hand and gobbling them down. "Whaddaya think, Raditsu?"

"We'll discuss that after I get our minions going on these muffins," he turned away, wiping Goku's saliva away with one hand and keeping a careful hold of the berry in the other.

"Guess we didn't need Vegeta's help after all," Goku muttered to himself with a smile, leaning over and grabbing a cookie as a tray was pulled from the oven. "Though I do wonder why Bulma didn't let me talk to Vegeta..."

"Daddy!" Goten burst in the door. He paused to bow to the customer he'd almost bumped into, and hopped over the counter. "Can I have a chocolate-chip muffin?" At the nod and smile of one of the employees, he took one and continued toward his father.

Raditsu strode back into the main area. "Our top lackey Mark was impressed with your choice, Kakarrot," he clapped his brother on the shoulder, but seemed to regret it as he noticed the crumbs that littered his brother's clothing. "He has never seen such a combination."

Goku grinned. "I'm good at food!"

"Uncle Raditsu!" Goten burst into a grin. "I think you owe me extra pastries for this!"

"Really?" the man raised an eyebrow, switching to the voice that seemed to be reserved specifically for the little boy. "What is it?"

Goten yanked something from behind his back and slapped it into Raditsu's open palm. "I think it's important! Trunks' mom was working on it a lot yesterday and she kept saying we couldn't bother her. Then she gave something just like it to a guy in a nice suit!"

Raditsu unrolled the booklet. "Can you read it?"

Goten bit his lip. "There's a lot of big words...she said to the guy that it was for next week's, um...apple spice mint?"

"Hm," Raditsu narrowed his eyes. "I doubt that's it, but what a fine idea for a cake—don't you think, Kakarrot?"

"Oh, yeah," Goku grinned. "But hey—look at that book again, there's pictures!"

Raditsu flipped through the pages. "So there are."

"It's pictures of food!" Goten piped up. "Maybe Trunks' mom is gonna sell food too!"

"Maybe she is," a new voice answered smoothly from the entrance to the shop.

"Vegeta!" Goku beamed. "Oh yeah, I don't think we need more advice after all, 'cause—"

"Oh," Vegeta knit his brows. "Don't even get me started, Kakarrot," he warned. "I don't know _what _you were thinking—"

"What's going on?" Raditsu crossed his arms, handing the booklet back to Goten. "What's this about more advice, Kakarrot?"

"Um," Goku glanced toward his toes, "I sorta...called Vegeta...but..."

"Shit," Raditsu grumbled. "Really?"

"Bulma answered," Vegeta finished, "and the rest is history."

"That does explain why your clothes look so rumpled—for a prince," Raditsu chortled.

"Slept in a tree last night," Vegeta grumbled. "And thanks, Kakarrot, for ensuring that I don't get any for the next three months."

"Any what?" Goku blinked, but seemed to become distracted, turning around. When he turned back, Raditsu was snickering and Vegeta had stuffed his hands in his pockets indignantly. "Want a muffin?"

Vegeta snatched it, still grumbling. "Thanks, Kakarrot," he mumbled.

Goku smiled. "Hey, just 'cause Bulma's mad at you doesn't mean I am. I'll give you a muffin anytime, Vegeta!" He grinned, even as Vegeta's face fell.

Goten's eyes lit up as his father's comment seemed to spark something. "Mister Vegeta! You can help us!" He turned to Raditsu. "Right, 'cause—'cause if Trunks is like my brother, then Vegeta is like my dad, right?"

"Oh god," Vegeta pressed his palm against his nose, hiding his eyes behind his fingers.

"What do you mean, if Trunks is like your brother?" Raditsu's eyebrow twitched.

"Then we're all like family!" Goten finished, ignoring his uncle's question. "So we can tell Vegeta the secret and he can help us!"

"Yeah!" Goku took the booklet from his son. "Vegeta, can you read this to us?" he proffered it to the prince.

"Absolutely n—" Vegeta started, but when he peeked through his fingers at the booklet, he took it immediately. "These are Bulma's advertisements for next week's Capsule Corp. catalogue!" he glanced them over. "I saw her working on them yesterday. She was damn excited about it, too..."

"Oh, I guess it wasn't apple spice mint," Goten admitted.

"Where'd you get this?" Vegeta brandished it.

"From her bag," Goten muttered under his glare, "when she left to go get somethin' from the kitchen."

Vegeta growled, folding his arms. "Well..."

"Well, what're you going to do?" Raditsu slid up to him. "Return it to her? Hm?"

"Oh, but Bulma's mad at him," Goku pointed out, and Raditsu elbowed his brother.

"Kakarrot has a point," Vegeta flipped through the pages, and his scowl slowly became a smirk. "And since that's not likely to change anytime soon..."

Raditsu held a hand out to Vegeta. "No need," Vegeta gave a toothy grin. "It's a deal."

...

King Vegeta nudged at Bardock, but the man did little more than twitch, moving his mouth every few moments.

Kakarrot listened carefully as the prince spoke, apparently straining to hear his quiet words. Eventually, Vegeta stopped speaking, and Kakarrot bit his lip, fiddling with his wristbands. Vegeta spoke a few more words, smirking smoothly, and Kakarrot grinned, nodding. When Raditsu paced up to them, the two sprung apart, speaking animatedly as they motioned to a nearby cake.

"—Duplicity!" Bardock blurted, head snapping back up.

"What?" King Vegeta blinked. "Duplicity?"

"What the hell kind of word is that?" Bardock grumbled, rubbing his forehead where it had slammed against the table.

"The one you just said!"

"Liar." 

"Am not."

They froze at a rapid knocking on the door. "I know you're in there! Come on, I came over to visit!"

"Oh gods," King Vegeta whispered, eyes widening, a bead of sweat gathering at his brow.

"We...should...run."

...

"I cannot _believe_ your father," Bulma fumed, shoveling spaghetti onto Trunks plate until it spilled over the sides, and then she kept going.

"Mom!" Trunks pulled his plate away. "It's okay."

"I'm only one person," she huffed. "Now Vegeta's probably going to go help Raditsu. Sure I'm amazing, but Vegeta wasn't half bad at this kind of thing..."

"I'll help," Trunks smirked. "I can go spy on them."

Bulma raised her eyebrows. "Well..."

"I know what you're thinking," the boy stood, pacing, as he spoke matter-of-factly. "It's not fair. But consider this!" he whirled around to face his mother. "They have a spy too! Goten!"

"Oh," Bulma narrowed her eyes, cracking her knuckles. "Is that so?"

Trunks nodded. "If you give me extra allowance, I'll return the favor and spy on them! I think they think I'm on Goten's side," he grinned slyly. "They'll never suspect a thing."

"Hm," Bulma smirked. "You drive a hard bargain, kiddo. All right. Maybe you can learn a thing or two for when _you_ take over Capsule Corp."

"All right!" Trunks held his hand up for a high-five.

Bulma grabbed it and shook it. "Lesson one: the handshake."


	10. 10

"New muffins," Trunks hopped through the door, swinging his backpack onto the table. "I brought some home."

"Wow," Bulma grinned, "a pro already, huh?" She removed one of the muffins from the backpack, inspecting it. "Still, this is their only recent innovation?"

"The line was going out the door," Trunks took a seat beside his mother. "And around the street corner. Every single one of 'em wanted those muffins. There's some berry in there..."

"Do you know what it is?" Bulma broke a piece off of the muffin to get a better look at the berries inside.

Trunks shook his head. "Raditsu had all his employees calling it by some code name. Goten too, and Goten's dad."

"Yeah?" Bulma raised an eyebrow, taking a bite. Her eyes widened. "_Damn_."

...

"And this is from the cash register," Mark waved a fat stack of bills in front of Raditsu as he entered his office. "Radish-man, if you'd have told me the shop would make this much in a week, let alone a day, I never would have believed you. And we were a dessert shop all along before this, so it's not as if—" he paused was he noticed that Raditsu was asleep, head resting against his desk. "Hey now, I know you've been working hard, but _honestly_," he sighed, nudging him.

"They've all been exterminated," Raditsu mumbled, switching to lying against his other ear. "Ri' on time, sir..."

"Radish Man!" Mark snapped beside his ear, and Raditsu bolted up.

"Nappa!" he blurted.

"Sorry?"

"Oh," Raditsu pinched his nose. "Dammit, what the _hell_ was that?"

"You said something about naps," Mark helped. "And I thought you'd like to see what we pulled in from money in the register alone today," he slapped the bills against the desk. "Those muffins were genius."

"Thank Kakarrot," Raditsu rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Ah, yes, the Carrot-man headed home with his son about half an hour ago."

Raditsu nodded. "Arright." 

"The pink-haired kid, he's one of your hires, right?"

"What?" the Saiyajin was suddenly more awake. "No—not technically, why?" 

"Oh," Mark scratched his head, "one of the cashiers told me he asked for his payment along with that Goten kid. Took a share of our goods home."

Raditsu shrugged. "Well, nothin' we can do now. Besides, Bulma will never figure out the secret ingredient."

"Whatever," Mark turned away to leave before freezing. "Wait—Bulma as in Bulma _Briefs_? Of Capsule Corporation?"

"She's that famous around here?"

"Oh god, yes!" his eyes were suddenly glazed over with an extra layer that wasn't his glasses. "One day I will meet her...but how do _you _know her?"

"Er," Raditsu picked up the bills, stowing them away. One person had tried to steal from their store—one. There had been a robber-shaped hole through the wall the next morning, and Raditsu sleeping right beside it, and no one had tried to break in since. "I'm sort of supposed to compete with her. In business."

"No way," Mark muttered. "Then what are you doing still running pastry joint?"

Raditsu gathered up some papers beneath him, stowing them away as well. "This place had my name on it, didn't it? Besides, she's bringing the competition to us. I hear she's starting some form of food delivery service."

"Man," Mark readjusted his glasses, "_the _Bulma Briefs. Believe you me, I'm just a pastry chef right now, but one day, when I finish my engineering degree—"

"She's a scary woman," Raditsu leaned close. "She has Vegeta—you know, the guy who's been around here that past couple of days, tall hair, mean eyes?—_Vegeta_!—by his—"

"Oh, goddammit, Raditsu!" came the prince's voice from the door. "Have you even considered my idea yet? Do you want my help or not?" 

"He was just resting," Mark whipped around. "And I seriously doubt he needs your ideas. Did you see how much we brought in today?"

Vegeta shrugged, his mouth twitching. "Whatever you say. Anyway, I'm leaving for the night. You know where to find me."

"In a tree?" Raditsu raised an eyebrow, and Vegeta grumbled as he left.

...

"All right, if we run down that hall," King Vegeta started in a whisper, "then it takes us to another door, which is out of view of this entrance, and—"

_Bam_. "_Guys!_"

"Shit," Bardock mumbled. "Too late."

"F-fuh-fancy seeing you here, Nappa," King Vegeta turned around slowly, trying to act casual as he leaned against the table. "How'd you get past the guards?"

"I won a bet," he grinned, pacing across the room to meet the two of them.

"What sort of bet?"

"They bet that I couldn't beat 'em up!" he chuckled. "Or more like, I bet that I could, and they didn't really answer."

"Well," King Vegeta laughed lightly, "good...good for you. Haven't seen you in a while...like...four days..."

"I missed both a' you guys," Nappa threw an arm around each of their shoulders. "Lemme tell you. Hey, we could play cards now, even."

"Say," Bardock finally spoke up, trying to remove the arm from around him, "Nappa."

"Yeah?"

"If King Vegeta bet that he could beat you up, would he win?"

The king's eyes grew wide and he made wild hand motions at Bardock.

"Good question," Nappa scratched his head. "Maybe. I fight a whole lot more'n him, so maybe I'm stronger by now." He rolled back and forth on his feet, considering it. "Thing is though, he always has that royal guard with him." He turned to the king. "Don't you?"

"At this very moment," King Vegeta answered matter-of-factly, nodding. "Yes."

"Sneaky guys," Nappa whistled. "And I'm sure I can't beat all of 'em, from what the King says."

"I see."

"To be frank," Nappa met Bardock's eyes to convey his honesty and conviction, "I'd be afraid to even try, 'cause I'm sure they'd have me whipped pretty bad before I could even blink. King Vegeta says they're pretty strong."

"Yes," Bardock agreed, "he does. And, Nappa?"

"Yeah?"

"If King Vegeta bet that he could beat you in a race, would he win?"

"Oh, probably," Nappa shrugged. "I see him practicing his running all the time. He's a pretty quick guy, you know."

"I see." Bardock leaned forward to lock gazes with King Vegeta, winked, and crumpled to the floor.

"He does that," Nappa sighed. "Something wrong with his head, that poor guy."

King Vegeta nodded mutely, gulping. Unassumingly but with shaky hands, he leaned forward, grabbed Bardock's body, and ran.

...

"But _Mom_," Trunks huffed. "I didn't have _time_ 'cause I was _spying _for you after school!"

"That's no excuse for a messy room," Bulma crossed her arms. "I told you to clean it yesterday and you didn't do it then, either. Trunks, this is another business lesson for you—deadlines are important, and you failed to meet yours."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Fine. Whatever. What if I clean it tonight before bed?"

"Then you'll only lose _one _week's worth of allowance instead of _two_."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me. And no gravity room for the rest of this week!"

"No way! You're joking now!"

"You'd best get to cleaning, mister," she closed her eyes, striding away.

Trunks collapsed onto his bed, frowning. _No allowance this week? But I was supposed to get extra..._ He bolted up, grinning. _Maybe I still can._

...

"So, Raditsu?" Vegeta smirked, entering the shop with sweeping grandeur for all his rumpled clothes and messier-than-usual hair. "Have you given it any thought—my plan?"

"Tell you what, Vegeta," Raditsu glanced up from a vat of batter, licking some of it off his finger and giving one of the cooks a nod, "maybe after the excitement of this whole muffin thing cools down, so to speak."

"And what if it crashes down before you expect it? You run out of those berries? You'll have no backup!"

"I'm really not worried about that right now," Raditsu sighed. "Vegeta, thanks but...it would really be more helpful if you helped Kakarrot with the taste-testing right now."

Vegeta grumbled, stalking off toward the other Saiyajin.

"And then," Goku leaned in close to Goten, who stared back at him, engrossed in the tale, "I realized the only way to fix it was to just charge in there and do my own thing!"

The prince's eyes widened, and his scowl lightened into a grin. "Well put, Kakarrot," he slid up to the man.

"You don't even know what I was talking about," Goku pouted, but as he noted Vegeta's expression—pleasant, if a little suspiciously so—he smiled. "You look happy about something."

"Not yet," he crossed his arms, "but I hope to be."

"Well, you must be pretty hopeful then."

"I am."

"So what is it? That's gonna make you happy?" he leaned close to Vegeta. "You got an idea for an even tastier recipe?"

"Something like that," Vegeta did not push him away, voice low. "Kakarrot, you've only known Raditsu for a little while, right?"

Goku nodded. "Right. Besides the time we fought, but 'course that was less'n a day." He tried to follow Vegeta's lead, whispering as well, which caused Goten to pop his head up between them to hear better.

"So you...still..." he considered his words carefully, weighing the amount of pride each might cost him, "you still like me better, right?" He mustered a smirk.

"Oh!" exclaimed, but then shoved his hands over his mouth at the glare Vegeta shot him for making such a loud noise. "Oh, Vegeta, are you jealous or somethin'?" When Vegeta didn't respond, he let a warm smile overtake his features. "Aw, you an' me have been through a lot more than just making desserts, 'course! Is that what you wanted t' hear, Vegeta?" Again, Vegeta didn't respond, apparently still finding his gloves more interesting, so Goku continued. "Anyway, no worries, Vegeta. You're way more like family t' me than Raditsu, even though he's my brother an' all." Goten grinned, nodding.

"Please don't put it that way," Vegeta mumbled.

"What?" Goku blinked. "Arright, um...you're my friend, Vegeta. Like I told Raditsu way back when, it don't matter who's my family and who ain't. The fact a' the matter is, you and me are prob'ly closer than me an' Raditsu ever will be. I know it, Vegeta!"

"Marginally better," he answered, smirking again. "I'm glad you feel that way, Kakarrot, because..." the prince leaned in closer, and motioned for Goku to do the same. Goten frowned as he was pushed out of the huddle, but stood on his tiptoes to listen as well as he could manage. "I think Raditsu's taking the wrong direction here, but he won't listen to me. I have some damn good ideas that I know Bulma would have at least given a chance, but Raditsu's a fool."

Goku nodded. "Okay...so..."

"So I'd like to ask you, Kakarrot, to join me—in making my own business. I'm certain that we can defeat both Raditsu _and_ Bulma!"

"We are a pretty good team," Goku grinned, but his features quickly became more solemn as he fiddled with his wristbands, "but I promised Raditsu my help."

"I remember that fool having some line he always repeated," Vegeta mused, smirking slyly, "about card games."

"_Oh_," Goku was grinning once more, "yeah—yeah! That means it's allowed! Yeah!" At another warning glare from Vegeta, he simply nodded vigorously. He gave a thumbs-up, and Goten squeaked something from behind them. The two whipped around to see Raditsu approaching, surveying the area.

"Needs a _little _more sugar, I'd say," Vegeta spoke loudly as the Saiyajin approached.

"I dunno, you haven't even ta—" Goku started, and Vegeta stomped on his foot. He straightened and corrected himself. "Sugar is tasty!"

"Cute," Raditsu snickered. "Kakarrot, at least your stupidity is endearing."

As he passed, Goku leaned down to murmur again. "I like it a lot better when you say that kind of thing," he glanced at Vegeta, "than when he says it."

The prince's lips curled into a smirk. "Then I'd say this is going to work out just fine."

"Yay!" Goten hugged Vegeta around the waist. "We're family now!"

Vegeta grumbled, removing the boy from himself. "Stop it, whelp." Goku and Goten smiled, and Vegeta shivered. "Now get back to your inconsequential batter-tasting duties."


	11. 11

Business boomed, and even as a pivotal point in Vegeta's success, Goku was left wondering how it happened. Was this not Vegeta the warrior, the man who'd only grudgingly stayed on Earth, Vegeta who spent all his time training?

But then what Raditsu had—quickness to think up a strategy, and no problem with doing what had to be done, no matter how cold or heartless it was—Vegeta also had, and then some. Raditsu had a fresh look at Earth, yes, but Vegeta's was almost as new, and what little he did know of the people had helped him.

How Vegeta had managed to get the building and equipment they needed without any money to spend, Goku wasn't sure, but he felt like if he asked he probably wouldn't like the answer. Less than a week after Vegeta had insisted they break away from Raditsu's business, they had somehow ended up with the capacity to compete with Raditsu—through sheer willpower outproducing him, doing _more_. But Vegeta had been talking a lot lately about needing to move past that, even though they hadn't quite overcome Raditsu yet.

"Kakarrot," he'd said, "we might be able to corner the market in desserts, but what does that really mean, in terms of competing with Bulma?"

Goku supposed he was right. Bulma made a lot of other stuff—airplanes, cars, computers, everything. And if Vegeta wanted to try to do those things too, well, he'd be there to help.

"What do you think?" Vegeta sat beside him, and Goku wondered if he'd missed something, cocking his head. "Where should we go next?"

"Dunno," Goku shrugged.

"How about restaurants?" Trunks suggested, ducking into the room.

"Very nice, boy," Vegeta smirked, "still in an area in which we've become established—relatively speaking..."

"What?" Goku blinked.

"Food," Vegeta he held up a cake that sat nearby to demonstrate his point. "But then, that hardly gets us closer to what Bulma—"

Trunks shook his head and stepped aside to let Goten in. Goku's son waved something before them, and Trunks grinned. "Really? I'd say it might."

"What?" Vegeta reached for what Goten held—what appeared to be some kind of glossy paper. "What is it?"

"Aw, we had to go to all the work of finding out," Trunks grinned. "Right, Goten? It was pretty tough, right?"

"Well, not—" Goten started, and Trunks stepped on his foot, "Yeah!"

"Yeah, pretty tough," Trunks grabbed the paper from Goten, glancing it over. "But considering the kind of information that you're gonna be able to get from this, totally worth it." He turned to his father. "Worth a pretty steep price."

"Two trips to the amusement park," Vegeta closed his eyes, folding his arms and leaning back. "No more."

"Petty favors," Trunks strutted around the room. Vegeta wondered when his son had become so—well, so much like _him_. His lips pulled back as he grinned, proud. "Mom was gonna pay me _money_, before she grounded me of course. Though," he glanced at his bare wrist, "the week's almost up, so I guess I could just take this back. She was pretty happy to show me how to run a business, so I'm sure she'd take me back in..." he paused, "not that she knows I was ever _out_..."

Goten stared in awe as Trunks spoke, making sure not to say anything. He usually messed up whatever tricky thing Trunks was trying to do. Trunks was sneaky like that.

"My," Vegeta's grin did not budge, "quite the talker, son. So, what exactly is that?" he motioned to the paper.

"Oh, this?" Trunks shrugged as he held it. "Well, Mom was just about to open a restaurant, see, and this is only just a simple little draft of her menu..."

"Give it," Vegeta growled, extending his arm.

"So you're interested," Trunks paced closer to Goten, leaning against him. "Well, Goten and I will gladly give this to you, 'course, but you've gotta give us something back."

"How about a punch in the gut?" the prince snarled.

"_Goten and I_ are pretty stubborn," he frowned. "I'm sure you'd hate to provoke _us_. Especially if we felt like we had to _combine _forces against you."

"Well _Kakarrot and I _can handle it, I'm sure."

"Vegeta?" Goku tapped him on the shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Trunks raised an eyebrow. "See, you and me and Goten, compared to Son, why, we're not so concerned with playing fair—"

Goten frowned. "But Trunks, I—" Trunks elbowed him, and he silenced himself, crossing his arms.

"I think you forget that Kakarrot's brat is even softer than Kakarrot himself, who we all know is not above a _little_ unfair play—"

"But Vegeta, I—" Vegeta elbowed him, but Goku stuck his tongue out, persisting, "I think it's fair that they wanna get paid for what they did. I won't fight 'em on that point."

"Yeah," Goten agreed, "We wanna get paid! Money instead of pastries and trips to the park!" Trunks smirked at him. "Though I do like pastries...and trips to the park..." and Trunks elbowed him again.

"Goddammit," Vegeta sighed. "Fine. Name your price." Trunks mumbled something in his father's ear, and Vegeta's eyes widened. "Absolutely not." 

"It'll be worth it," Trunks smirked. "Promise."

"It'd better be," Vegeta paced back to his desk, fishing behind it and pulling out a small stack of bills.

"Toys!" Goten chirped as Trunks took the money.

Trunks thumbed through the bills, and handed the menu to his father. "You'll thank me later," he said as he left, and Goten gave the two Saiyajin one more glance before he followed.

...

"Jeez," Bulma rubbed her temples, "I don't believe this. How did he manage it?" She glanced up to find a waiter before her, and handed the menu to him. "Never mind. Can you get Vegeta over here?"

"Hm," the waiter frowned, shifting his weight uneasily, "I'm not sure he's present. He has other..."

"If I were you," a new voice entered, "I'd do it." Raditsu slid into the booth across from Bulma, snatching the menu back from the waiter's hands.

"W-well sir," the waiter stammered, "if-if he's not here, he's simply _not here_..."

"You should get him over here, then," Bulma insisted. "Right now. I'm sure someone in this joint can contact him."

"M-ma'am, I _know _who you are and everything, b-but I'm going to need a reason _why_—that is—I'm not sure w-w-why I should convey this message, given that—"

"Do it," Raditsu growled. "If the woman wants it." He leaned toward the waiter, who bent over to hear him. "Trust me. She can do..._things_..."

"Ah," the waiter nodded, and straightened up. "Well, I'll see what I can do." He turned on his heel and swiveled around the corner briskly.

"How'd you do that?" Bulma leaned back, crossing her arms as the corners of her mouth turned up. "I always figured if _I _can't get something done somewhere, no one can."

"Had your help, of course," Raditsu raised his eyebrows, and he glanced over the menu, whistling. "Well, damn. I can see how he beat you at this whole restaurant deal, huh? All I gotta do's see the pictures and know the stuff's good."

"Well, being a Saiyajin," Bulma scoffed, "I'm sure you'd think a charred human leg was good."

Raditsu considered it, and licked his lips. "Maybe."

"Disgusting," she sighed. "So are you seriously going to order something?"

"Can't," he grumbled, "no money."

"If you're hungry," Bulma rolled her eyes, "which I'm sure you are—I can get you something." She stuck her tongue out, "Though of course it's money going straight into Vegeta's pocket."

"You are pretty wealthy, huh?" Raditsu pondered.

"Sure. The restaurant deal lost me money, but not a lot. I can make up for it elsewhere, anyway. I just can't believe I lost to Vegeta. I mean—he's not dumb as a rock like Son, but—"

"So how come you lost, with all that money?" he glanced over the menu, as if he might suddenly find himself able to read it.

Bulma shrugged. "Don't know. Vegeta just topped me, somehow."

"I get a feeling," Raditsu leaned across the table as he lowered his voice, "he had a little help. Your brat."

"Trunks," Bulma groaned. "I guess that could explain it. He stopped bugging me about 'un-grounding' him. But he must've been pretty sneaky about it," she mused. "The kid's good."

"Don't I know it," Raditsu sighed.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to compete with you," Bulma sighed, "if Vegeta just runs you out of business."

"Hm," Raditsu leaned his head against his palm, elbow on the table. "It's sure coming to that."

"Shame," Bulma sighed. "You seemed pretty promising. You know? I never would have thought it would've been you, of all people. I mean—for one thing, I figured it'd be either someone I knew really well—or some total stranger."

"You don't count me as a total stranger?" Raditsu blinked, confusion playing across his face in a way that seemed proof enough to Bulma that he and Goku were related.

"Nah, I saw you before."

"You did?"

"Oh, you don't remember me?" Bulma glanced toward the ceiling. "My beautiful face goes unnoticed once more..." She faced Raditsu again. "Sure, I was on that island with Son, when you first showed up."

"Son—you mean Kakarrot?"

"Yup," she laughed. "I thought you knew. I guess there's no reason for you to have noticed me..."

Raditsu shrugged.

"You seem a lot of different—than then."

"Different times," he sighed. "Different things going on. And Hell," he added. "Especially Hell."

"You're a lot—mellower."

"Want me to level the building?"

"No!" she shrieked, but then smirked. "Well...it wouldn't be _such_ a loss..."

Raditsu chuckled, but grew solemn quickly. "I mean it. Under Freeza, well—I was on his peripheries, a' course. Could do pretty much whatever I wanted as long as the job got done well enough that nobody had reason to look into it. It was great—making a living in blood." He paused. "Well, among other things, y' can't kill people in Hell. And people get lethargic—fights are hard to come by. It's boring. Mostly," the corner of his mouth turned down, "mostly I played cards. This is—well, this is at least more fun. I'd hate to provoke Kakarrot and give him reason to kill me again."

"I doubt he would," Bulma shrugged. "Unless you did something really bad. Now Vegeta, you might have to worry about."

"Yeah," Raditsu inspected a salt shaker, "already knew that, though. Bad temper even for a Saiyajin. Speaking of which, what were you gonna talk to him about, anyway?"

Bulma shrugged. "I never see him these days. I miss arguing with him."

"You know who I miss arguing with?"

"Who?"

"My father," Raditsu smirked. "Crazy guy. Fucked up his brain somehow when he was off-planet."

"Bit like Son," Bulma mused.

"Bit like him."

"He's on his way," the waiter returned, and leaned in to whisper, "taking his sweet time, I might add, but don't tell him I said so." They laughed, and the waiter glanced at Raditsu. "Are...are you ordering something?"

"May as well," Raditsu shrugged, and glanced toward Bulma, "if you don't mind—"

"No," she waved her hand, "go for it. I'm even richer than I am beautiful, if you'd believe it."

Raditsu whistled, winking, and turned to the waiter. "This," he pointed to a picture. "I want this."

"A steak?"

"Yes. But tell me—how big is it?"

"Twelve ounces—"

"No, the size, you dimwit."

"Er," the waiter made awkward motions with his hands, approximating the dimensions. "Like that, I guess?"

"Excellent. Twenty of those, and then about as much of this," he pointed to another picture.

"Of...of pie?"

"Ah, that's right, that's what it's called. Pie. Yes. Pie is damn good, you know?"

"I-I know, sir," the waiter scribbled down the order. "And you're certain that you want this as your order?"

"Yes."

"Dare I ask what you'd like to drink?"

...

"Thanks," Bardock mumbled as King Vegeta set him down.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't very well leave you there," he crossed his arms. "You know, he's been worse lately.

"Raditsu's gone," Bardock mumbled. "I think that's gotta be it. Nappa used to bother the guy all the time. I think he kinda liked it, to be honest."

"Who?"

"Raditsu. My son—besides Kakarrot, of course. I dunno, he just went back to life a while back."

"Bizarre."

"Yeah."

"Any idea why?"

"Not a one."

"Well, he'll be back."

"Very true."

"In the meantime, though..."

"We need some disguises."

"Or someplace to hide. My royal guard can't protect us forever, after all."

...

"So Vegeta suggested I make a wish."

"On the dragon's balls?"

Bulma chortled. "Yeah, all seven of 'em."

Raditsu raised his eyebrows. "Guess I never met a dragon, but..."

"You know I'm kidding," Bulma snickered. "They're not _testicles_."

"Oh," Raditsu blinked, "yes, of course, that would be ridiculous. Over-the-top. Baffling, and completely unbelievable, I mean, the preservation of—"

"So I did it, and I guess it had to have been you, if there really was that store with your name on it and everything—"

"Fucking dragon," Raditsu mumbled. "Probably knew I'd tank, too, and just did it to get both our hopes up, huh?"

"Shenlong's not exactly kind and patient," Bulma shrugged, "but I never knew him to out-and-out _not_ grant a wish."

"Well, he did it this time. I doubt I'll last more than another week or two if Vegeta and Kakarrot keep up like this."

Bulma frowned. "Jeez. Yeah...wow. Sorry that had to happen to you. I mean, the last thing I'd have planned for would be for _Vegeta _to even stand a chance at competing with—" she froze, and then her face melted into a smirk. "Shenlong, you sly dog."

"Dragon," Raditsu corrected her, "I thought."

"No, no, _no_—I was always _meant _to compete with Vegeta," she grinned. "But we needed _you_ to make some waves before he could have his chance."

"Story of my life," Raditsu sighed.

"You know what that means?" Bulma leaned forward across the table, and Raditsu bored his gaze into her forehead for fear that if it strayed any lower it would fall too low.

"No," he shrunk away, and reached out to grab some remaining gristle from his plate to nibble on.

"You and me, Raditsu, can work together and pound Son's and Vegeta's sorry asses into the ground!"

"Is that so?" Vegeta rounded the corner, Goku at his heels.

Bulma stood, and, after Raditsu followed her lead, extended one hand to him. The Saiyajin turned to Vegeta momentarily, smirking, and then grabbed Bulma's hand, shaking it.

"Let's get out of this dump," Bulma threw her bag over her shoulder. Raditsu spat on one of his plates, chuckled, and pushed past Goku, leaving alongside the blue-haired woman.

"H-hey!" Goku shouted after them. "You didn't pay!"

As he and Bulma strode out the door, Raditsu tossed his middle finger into the air.

"Don't worry about it, Kakarrot," Vegeta smirked. "They don't stand a chance."


	12. 12

"Trunks," Bulma whispered, rapping on the boy's door. "Trunks!"

"Jeez," Trunks opened the door, rubbing his eyes, "Mom. I have school tomorrow, you know?"

"And spying for Son and Vegeta," Bulma frowned. Trunks sighed, shrugging. However she'd found out, there was no denying it, anyway. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes once more, though, he froze, eyes widening. Bulma tapped a finger against his head. "Trunks?"

"I-is that..." he started, pointing behind Bulma to a silhouette just beyond the doorway.

"Oh, yeah," Bulma grinned, "Raditsu and I have joined forces against Son and your father."

Trunks nodded blankly, eyeing Raditsu as he smirked, waving nonchalantly as he leaned against the wall. "Right, okay...er..." He raised his eyebrows to his mother significantly, and she stifled a giggle. "So can I go back to bed now? I have a math test tomorrow and I'm sure you want me to..." he started to turn around.

"Now wait right there, mister," his mother grabbed him by the shoulder. "Of course I didn't just wake you up to tell you I knew you were spying. There's something I want," her eyes gleamed, and Trunks shrunk back.

"L-like what?" he stuttered. He felt distinctly like her answer might be "your soul" based on her expression, but it was worth asking.

"I want you to spy for _us_," she leaned closer to him, still smirking impishly.

He bit his lip and composed himself, stepping a few paces away and crossing his arms. "Well," Trunks finally spoke, "I think that can be arranged. For a price, of course. Goten and I don't come cheap."

"Kakarrot's brat? Oh, we don't need him," Raditsu spoke up from the shadows.

"Goten and I are a package deal," Trunks asserted, glaring into the darkness.

"Fine," Bulma sighed. "Whatever. I have the money. I'm just trying to make it fun, you see?"

"Of course," Trunks from one wall of his room to the other, authority in each step. "Well, I'll tell you, it's a risk for us to just turn on our fathers, so this is going to cost you more than it cost them."

"Name your price," Bulma crossed her arms, mirroring his pose. "We'll go from there."

...

"This is it, Kakarrot...!" Vegeta chuckled. "I think this is it!"

"Oh?" Goku leaned over the prince's shoulder. "Wow, Vegeta, that's pretty cool. What is it?"

"Just a little subliminal messaging," he chortled.

Goku frowned. "I dunno what sub-limo-nal is, but I don't think this is it."

"No," Vegeta frowned, "I suppose you're right. More like...hypnosis."

"Hm," Goku bit his lip, "but hips and noses are not really that close together, Vegeta. Really, I dunno..." he paused. "But I'll bet I could touch my nose to my hips..." Scratching his head, he started bending over to attempt to do so, and Vegeta smacked him on the back of the head. Goku clutched the injured area. "Ow! Vegeta!"

"Stop the nonsense, Kakarrot. Look, that's just one part of the scheme, important though it may be." He rapped on the table, pointing to another drawing he had laid out. "Take a look at this."

"Er," Goku tilted his head, observing it. "It looks really...scientific."

"Well, what's wrong with that, Kakarrot? Hm?"

"Well, um..."

"You don't have to be a scientist to embrace scientific innovations!" Vegeta snapped. "Stop questioning my prowess!"

"Vegeta..."

...

"And that," Bardock concluded, "is how I met the guy who invented the artificial moon."

"Interesting," King Vegeta raised his eyebrows, lifting his cape as he stepped over some particularly tall and prickly bushes. "I never had a chance to award him with...something or another."

"Oh, yes," the other Saiyajin hovered over the same bush, and King Vegeta rolled his eyes, "well, there's a reason for that."

"Of course; he met a premature death, as do most Saiya—"

"I killed him."

"Oh—_wait_—that was _you_?"

"Yup," Bardock grinned. "Sure was."

"So, what, did you run around taking all the credit for having invented the artificial moon, being the only man alive to know its secret?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

...

"What, Kakarrot? What? You _disbelieve _the genius of my invention?"

"No!" Goku threw his arms out in surrender. "No way, Vegeta! I'm nowhere near as smart as you!"

"Good."

"Only..."

"Only _what_, Kakarrot?"

"Only, if that's a magnet, and those are littler magnets, shouldn't all the cross-marks be facing _toward_ the slash-marks?"

"Those are _pluses _and _minu_—_wait_." He froze.

"I mean, everybody knows that the cross-marks always point at the slash-marks! Right? It's okay Vegeta, I probably got it wrong." He paused as Vegeta remained still. "Really, I mean, um, I just thought...'cause...I was looking over Gohan's shoulder once at a book and..." Still stone. "Um...y'know...never mind Vegeta, I think I'm wrong. I'm just gonna go and get a snack from our dessert shop, 'kay? I'll be gone a few minutes." He unassumingly scooted an eraser closer to the prince before striding out the door.

...

"And don't forget, Trunks!" Bulma called after him as he left for school, waving a stack of paper money. "It's all yours if you've got something good for me when you come home!"

He smirked and tossed her a thumbs-up.

...

"And _what _are you doing, boy?" Vegeta strode into the room just in time to find Trunks and Goten leaning over his papers, shuffling through them.

"Don't you owe me some money?" Trunks asked absently, glancing over the papers.

"Don't believe so," the prince growled.

"We're here for some muffins!" Goten piped up, and Trunks smirked at him.

"Well they sure as hell aren't on my desk," he snatched the papers away from his son. "Try across the street in the dessert shop."

"Good point," Trunks crossed his arms. "But, say, where's Goten's dad?"

"Out," Vegeta grumbled. "Assumedly acquiring muffins."

"Well, since we're here," Trunks strolled around the desk to lean against it, facing his father. "I'll lay it out for you plain and simple. Mom hired us as spies."

"_Trunks_—" Goten whined, frowning. "You're not supposed to _do _that..."

"Continue," Vegeta raised an eyebrow.

"But to be honest, the pay isn't the best, and we like you better than her. We'd only ask a little extra from you to make up for what I'm giving up."

"Boy, you are pushing it too far—"

"_We _think that it's fair," Trunks coughed. "Don't we, Goten?"

"Y...yes?"

"Yes. See? Come on, Dad. Besides, I might be able to find a little extra information for you in the meantime, while she thinks I'm working for her."

"A fair point," Vegeta growled. "Fine. A bit more. But you'd better come back with some damn good information for me, boy."

"Trust me, Dad, we'll get you something good."

"Yeah, Dad!"

"_Goddammit, whelp_!"

A bell tinkled as the door swung open, and Goku poured one last cake into his mouth as Trunks and Goten sprinted out before it swung shut behind him. "Did I miss anything?"

...

"This is the fifth time today!" King Vegeta threw his hands into the air as Bardock collapsed onto the ground. He picked the man up and threw him over his shoulder, shaking his head. Only moments later, however, the other Saiyajin's eyes snapped open.

"Suckers!" he blurted.

...

"You're not gonna believe this," Trunks chuckled, dumping his backpack onto the kitchen table and fishing out a paper. "I copied it down before he got back from wherever he went, but he thinks he caught us before we found anything."

"That's my boy," Bulma ruffled his hair, reaching for the paper. As she glanced them over, she whistled and showed them to Raditsu, who, after a few moments, simply shrugged.

"Well, it _looks_ fancy," he grumbled.

"Right," Bulma nodded, "I keep forgetting, you can't read—like Son."

"Stop _comparing_ me to him!"

Bulma waved her hand, and continued to eye the diagram, muttering to herself with a smile. "Oh, Vegeta, you think you're so clever. You never would have been able to afford to do this." She blinked. "And you didn't even draw the magnetic poles correctly..."

"I noticed that!" Goten piped up. "It's like how they showed us in school, the pluses are supposed to go to the minuses!" Raditsu nodded.

"By the way," Trunks stuffed his hands into his pocket. "There's another page."

"Yeah?" Bulma held out her hand.

"Yeah."

"Well, give it to me!"

"This one's worth more than what you're giving us," Trunks continued to crumple the page. "We're going to have to ask you for more."

"_More_?" Bulma crossed her arms. "How do I know that's not just a blank piece of paper?"

Trunks pulled it from his pocket, waving it to reveal that it was covered in text. Raditsu made a grab for it, but Trunks ducked away effortlessly, leaving Raditsu to stumble across the room. Brushing himself off, he paced back over to Bulma as inconspicuously as he could manage.

"How am I supposed to believe that it's worth it?"

"Either you trust us or you don't."

"What if I don't?"

Trunks raised his eyebrows, throwing his hand over his forehead and sighing melodramatically. "Your only son!"

"Sons are replaceable," Raditsu cracked his knuckles, but Bulma held her arm in front of him.

"Trunks, if this is not worth it, so help me god, your life will be a living hell. Don't forget that you live in _my_ house, boy!"

He nodded solemnly, but shot a sly grin to Goten. "So, you want it?"

Raditsu frowned, glancing toward Bulma. "You know, I—"

"What's your price?" she crossed her arms, sending him a defiant glare.

Trunks grinned.


	13. 13

NOTE: This is the last chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed this story! Please let me know what you thought! I hope it didn't seem too rushed. My classes start on Monday and my goal was to finish this before then. (Success!)

Next I will be working on the sequel to Anaugust Gold. But if you are uninterested in that, worry not, for I will also be doing one-shots and drabbles and such at the same time. Likely I will do another humor story after I finish the sequel...but that may be a while yet.

Anyway - enjoy!

...

"We're fucked," Raditsu threw his jacket onto the table as he strode into the room. "Plain and simple! Why'd you do that?"

"What?" Bulma blinked, leaning back and sipping her coffee.

"If there's one thing I've learned how to read in the time I've been here," he snorted, "it's numbers. And I saw how much you paid your kid last week to bring us junk that didn't even work out anyway."

"Yeah, well," she sighed, kicking a chair out across from her to suggest that he take a seat, "it was fun while it lasted."

"So you weren't kidding, what you said earlier on the—" he made a motion with his hand.

"Telephone," Bulma filled in.

"What you said earlier on the telephone—you're done?" he sat down, leaning across the table.

"For now," Bulma shrugged. "Wait 'til Son and Vegeta try competing with me in my actual market, though. They don't even know how to make the Hoi-Poi Capsules, let alone something that could be better or cheaper than they are in any way."

"The what?"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Anyway, you're right—I've wasted too much money on this for now."

"I tried to stop you."

"I know."

The weeks had passed quickly in the constant rush to outdo Goku and Vegeta. Bulma's initial excitement to expand into a new area to compete with them gradually waned: although their brainstorming sessions with Raditsu were often exhilarating and frequently lead to good ideas, she found Goku and Vegeta putting her plan into action days or hours before she and Raditsu could, and constantly losing their ideas grew tiring. In return, they would do what they could with Goku and Vegeta's ideas, brought to her by Trunks—but they never seemed to work as well for her as hers did for them. She wondered, briefly, whether Trunks might have been censoring the information before giving it to her, or holding something back. It was possible, but there was no way to know.

"It seems like your son was always on Vegeta and Kakarrot's side," Raditsu finally spoke after an extensive pause.

She sighed. "Yeah. Probably because he knows they could beat him up if they got too unhappy with him."

"Wonder what they did with all that money."

"Probably Son and Vegeta took it from them."

"Probably."

...

"Well, dammit, Kakarrot," Vegeta huffed, pacing. "We've been destroyed."

"We...we have?" Goku spoke through crumbs. "The restaurant was still there when I left ten minutes ago..."

"You know what I mean," the prince growled. Goku blinked, and, sighing, Vegeta continued, "I mean financially. We're destroyed. We can't compete anymore."

"We...we lost?"

"I can't see a way to salvage it."

Goku shrugged. "Well, I guess Bulma is a lot better at this stuff than you an' me, Vegeta."

"You're going to give up? Like that?"

"Sure," Goku smiled. "I had fun, getting free food and stuff, but I like sparring you better than selling stuff with you."

"I do miss sparring," Vegeta bit his lip.

"Yeah." In the beginning weeks, they had had more time, and sometimes fought for a while after turning in for the day. But Goku had noticed Vegeta spending ever more time on plotting things out, drawing pictures, scribbling notes—bargaining with Trunks, stealing Bulma's plans. Bulma's ideas were always great, but Goku noticed that they never worked for long. He wasn't sure if Vegeta just didn't know how to make them work, or if they really weren't good ideas. Vegeta swore that Trunks held the key information back from them, and that had been the cause of all the problems, but since there was no way to prove it for sure, Goku knew it wouldn't be fair to treat Trunks badly. He often held Vegeta back during verbal sparring matches with their sons. It had almost come to a fight, once—Trunks and Goten were going to fuse. Goku had been hoping they wouldn't, because he wasn't sure what he'd do if they did—would he be able to say no if Vegeta asked to fuse with him to take Gotenks on, because he knew that Trunks and Goten were only asking for fair payment? He wasn't sure. He'd been wanting to try the fusion dance _for real_ for the longest time, and he knew that it would be the most fun with Vegeta. _If only Vegeta wasn't so stubborn...we could work together better_. "You know, Trunks and Goten are a really good team."

"I guess," Vegeta admitted. "They sure tricked us. Damn, to think they were on Bulma's side the whole time. I should have guessed it."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, Bulma is Trunks' _mother_, and she—well—you know—"

Goku nodded. "We gave them money to take those ideas from Bulma...but...I tried to say something like maybe we shouldn't, but you never wanted to listen," he mumbled. "It was a lot of money, wasn't it?"

"'A lot'?" Vegeta raised his eyebrows. "That's an understatement. They almost singlehandedly ran us into the ground, probably went so far as to give all that money to Bulma and Raditsu, even." He sighed. "I was so sure one of Bulma's ideas would pull through for us, though, and get us back into business—so to speak."

"Yeah," Goku shrugged. "Well, maybe Bulma sometimes has bad ideas, too."

"Maybe," he sighed. "Unless our sons sabotaged them."

"That would be mean," Goku frowned. "I don't think Goten would do something like that!"

"With Trunks leading him," Vegeta smirked a little, "he might."

"Now I get what Chi always says about your and his bad influence," Goku smirked a little. "Say, I haven't seen those guys in a while. I wonder what they're up to?"

"Beats me."

...

"Say," Bardock leaned against a rock formation, "King."

"Yes?"

"You know how Nappa is irritating as hell?"

"Well, as he is a _part _of Hell, it's frankly a matter of—"

"Shut up. So I was thinking."

"God forbid."

"So I was thinking, why is it that he's irritating as hell?"

King Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Did you and I meet the same Nappa?"

"Shut up."

"Stop asking me questions then."

"Dammit, no, that's not what mean. So if he's irritating as hell because, say, he talks _all the time_—"

"Yes..."

"Following people around—"

"Yes..."

"Because they won't listen to him—"

"Yes. Wait. No. No. _No_."

"King, my boy—" Bardock clapped his hand against the king's shoulder.

"Really, I'm older than you—and _boy_ is inaccurate at best—and watch with the close contact; my guards might interpret it as a death—"

"King, I think we know what we have to do."

"I think we've been over this—"

"This is Hell."

"Yes, of course—"

"It's time we experienced it."

"You don't mean—"

"Nappa!" Bardock shouted to a distant speck. "Yo! Buddy! The king and I are over here! Yes, I know we look like unnaturally large tufts of grass, but it's us!"

A manly squeal echoed from across the canyon.

"You know," King Vegeta spoke through clenched teeth, "I hate you. So much."

Bardock threw an arm around his shoulder. "And that, King, is the way it's supposed to be."

...

"The scouter says they're over there," Bulma pointed.

"Why don't I get to use it?" Raditsu pouted.

"Think," Bulma rapped against his noggin as she climbed onto his back—perhaps surprising him a bit, as he jumped at the extra weight. "I can read it. Which means..."

"I can't," he mumbled. "Sure, sure."

"So, let's go!"

"Don't you have aircraft for this?" he motioned to her legs, wrapped around his torso as she struggled to cling onto his still-vertical form.

"Oh, you're probably faster, though," she winked. "Besides, Vegeta never lets me do this."

He smirked a little. "So, which way was that, again?"

...

"Over there!" Goku grinned. "Grab on, Vegeta; I'll just use my instantaneous movement to get us there."

"Fine," he grumbled, laying his hand against Goku's shoulder. "Now go."

"Aw, cheer up, Vegeta. I know you; one day you'll go back to competing with 'em. Hey, wanna spar later tonight? Would that make you feel better?"

"Maybe," the prince whimpered.

"Aw, cheer up, Vegeta. Now let's go find out what Trunks and Goten are doing!"

...

"A...a house."

"I'd call it a mansion."

"A castle."

"Damn."

"How?" Vegeta blinked.

"Yeah—how could they have afforded all this?" Bulma agreed. "There's a pool—a—is that a room full of snow? Is that a—_is that a herd of giant lizards_?" her eyes bulged. "_Inside_ _individual novelty giant hamster balls_?"

"Wait—wait a second." Raditsu's mouth hung open. "This is where the farmer lived! " All eyes turned to him, and he shook his head. "Never mind."

"Welcome," Trunks strutted up to them, followed closely by Goten, "to our..._humble_...abode."

"Trunks," Goten poked the back of his shoulder, "it's called a house."

"It's..._great_!" Goku grinned. "Wow, guys! One thing, though..." he scratched his head.

"How did you pay for it?" Vegeta blinked. "Surely Kakarrot and I didn't give you enough money to have managed this..."

"Us...either..." Raditsu mumbled, and immediately all four turned to each other with wide eyes, pointing.

"_You_?"

"Suckers!" both boys sang, grinning. "Guess we win!"

Bulma, Raditsu, Vegeta, and Goku were silent. A quiet rumbling echoed through the mountain range in the disance—a deep and jovial rumbling, a sadistic and cruel rumbling, reptilian rumbling—rumbling that had not been heard since centuries long past.

Raditsu stuffed his hands in his pockets, kicking a pebble and sending it soaring into the distant highway. A small scream echoed back, followed by the far-away song of a pileup in progress. "Damn dragon."

END


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